Til All Are One
by A Midnight Dreary
Summary: -07movieverse- Because not all things that die stay dead. As the Autobots discover...
1. Prologue: Taking Shots

**A/N:** Imagine the upcoming characters and all three Seekers with new, shiny, movie-verse graphics, but with very G1 stylings and personalities.

This story is dedicated to my editor, Malachite Circle, because it ate her soul and doesn't seem too keen on giving it back. It ate mine too, come to think of it.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Prologue: Taking Shots

* * *

He didn't have a lot of energy left. He was going to need to take rest somewhere and soon. Those slagging, stupid fleshy humans with their backwards technology had actually been able to put a good dent -- _several_ decent-sized dents!-- in him. And here his armor was supposed to be able to withstand anything those fragging squishies could dish out. There was nothing that would require him to make the long trip back to Cybertron. The minor damage would fix itself in due course. But it was all just... unfair, somehow.

At least crushing those humans beneath his heel would be extra satisfying.

Starscream burned his way through the void, making tracks to the fourth planet in this system; the red planet the humans called Mars. He didn't like it much. It was dusty, red, very boring and the dirt got everywhere. So, he had decided to rename it the "damned rusty rock of abysmal boredom". Otherwise known as DRRAB.

Before he had arrived on that stupid little organic planet searching for the AllSpark, he had arrived with some members of his team. Not the Coneheads, Primus no. He didn't trust those three not to harm themselves with a blunt screwdriver.

No, Starscream had arrived in this system with Thundercracker and Skywarp. As per his orders, they were waiting on Mars. Or least, they still should be. Starscream didn't anticipate that they would wait patiently. They were probably off blasting asteroids to relieve boredom.

As long as they were still functioning and coherent when he arrived.

The Seeker touched down the rusty red surface of the planet, quickly shifting out of the alt-mode he had chosen and sent out a signal that would bring his fellow Seekers running.

Starscream might have tapped his foot in impatience when Thundercracker and Skywarp took their own sweet time in turning up. But they did.

"You're late!" Starscream snapped when they landed in front of him.

"Sorry." Thundercracker said respectfully. "The asteroid field always scrambles transmissions."

"And you shouldn't have expected us to be hanging around here all slagging day!" Skywarp complained, crossing his arms. "The little red organics here aren't much fun to chase around. They all jump into their little holes and short of blowing up the ground--"

"Spare me the details of what you do in your free time." Starscream interrupted, raising a hand and sighing heavily. Sometimes, he wasn't exactly sure why kept Skywarp around. Competent as he was, there were often times where he came across as-- well, rather stupid.

"We did find an Autobot in the asteroid field." Thundercracker informed him, crossing his arms as well. With a pointed look, he added: "That yellow annoying one who always jumps on us. But we had to let him go when you called."

"You incapacitated him first, right?" Starscream asked sharply.

"Who do you take us for? We're your Seekers." Skywarp said, sounding insulted.

Starscream relaxed, remembering why he trusted these two more than any of the other Seekers. In addition to the fact that they had all been friends long before the war, they were actually competent. And competent Decepticons were becoming rare to find these days; they usually got blown up by the Autobots before they could really live up to their usefulness. There had been one such mech; Starscream's old friend, Skyfire. He actually might have made a good Seeker if he hadn't disappeared on some backwater planet long before the war had started.

Really, the best you could hope for these days was a mindless drone who obeyed orders without question.

"Starscream. Did you find the AllSpark?" Thundercracker asked, sounding suddenly excited and breaking the Seeker out of his thoughts. "Was it on that planet?"

"It _was_." Starscream said, subtly emphasizing 'was'. "Megatron is dead."

He didn't expect gasps of shock and he certainly didn't get them. The two Seekers took the news with blank expressions.

"What happened?" Thundercracker asked.

"The Autobots. That's what happened." Starscream said; that was all that _needed_to be said, really. "The AllSpark was destroyed in the heat of the battle."

"So what now?" Skywarp wanted to know. "Megatron's dead, and if the AllSpark's gone, doesn't that mean the war is over?--"

"No." Starscream said, intruding on the 'over'. He turned around to face the empty horizon and raised his arms. "This war won't be over until the Autobots are eradicated permanently and the Decepticons reign supreme over the universe!"

Thundercracker and Skywarp exchanged weary looks, knowing precisely what was coming next.

"Megatron has fallen! I, Starscream, am now the leader of the Decepticons!"

He burst into a string of maniacal laughter, unaware that Thundercracker and Skywarp had mouthed those words along with him and mimed his pose in a ridiculously exaggerated fashion. They were far too used to their leader's frequent bids to take over Megatron's position to try and talk him down. Well, now he had it, and on some level, they were happy for him. The turn of events had proven what Thundercracker had known for a long time -- that Megatron wouldn't have fallen to Starscream alone, as only the combined might of the Autobots had taken him down. But neither of the Seekers would be at all surprised if Starscream had taken some shots at Megatron during the battle.

"So then, _Lord_ Starscream. What do we do now?" Thundercracker asked, wondering if his slight sarcasm would go noticed. Really, this was all so sudden he was having a hard time taking it seriously. Starscream turned, a feral sort of smile creasing his faceplates. He liked the sound of that "Lord". He liked it very much.

"Without the AllSpark, Cybertron is a lost cause." he declared. "We have no more reason to keep the rest of the army there. We're moving them."

"To where?" Skywarp asked while comprehension dawned on Thundercracker's faceplates.

"Here."

Starscream's smile grew just a bit more wicked when Skywarp seemed to lose his composure. He puffed up, whether out of excitement or he was about to lose a good deal of lubricant.

"This system is the perfect place to begin building the foundations of the new Decepticon Empire." Starscream went on. "The third planet is rich with resources. All we need to do is weed out a few pesky Autobots and then the planet is ours for the taking. You will need to acquire native alt-modes until the Autobots have been destroyed. Thundercracker!"

The blue Seeker looked up.

"Send a message out. Call for Soundwave and tell him to bring the rest of his cassettes. And then send a message to any more Decepticons in the area on the encrypted channel three-three-two-seven-zero. Tell them to come to the following coordinates: Seven-six-one-three-nine-zero by zero-two-two-seven. Relay the information of Megatron's destruction, the AllSpark's destruction and be sure to let them know that I, Lord Starscream, have taken command of the Decepticon forces."

Thundercracker nodded and moved away to make a clear transmission, thinking that Starscream was getting too much glee out of glorifying himself with that title.

"Skywarp, find that Autobot again and kick his aft from here to the sun. We can't have him finding Optimus Prime and possibly warning him. There is a chance that he might have overheard our discussion."

"Doubt it, really. But whatever you say, Screamer." Skywarp said. He backed off a few steps and reverted back to his Tetrahedron jet mode; ripping out of the red planet's atmosphere.

A blurbling noise drew Starscream's attention. He looked over and saw one of the locals. It was short, red, and remarkably ugly; wrinkled skin, large but beady eyes, and crinkled antennae. It didn't show Starscream any fear, but rather shook one of its three-fingered fists at the Seeker while carrying on in its blurbling voice. Starscream stared at it for a moment until it scooped up a rock and hurled at the mech. The rock bounced harmlessly off his legs.

Starscream blew the thing into oblivion in one shot.

"Stupid organics."

* * *

It was a beautiful planet.

If nothing else, Optimus was quite glad that the AllSpark had chosen this planet to crash-land on.

The war with the Decepticons had led the Autobots to fight on many planets and places and they rarely got a chance to survey the new location; get a chance to get a feel for it or even enjoy it. The Decepticons were always quick to follow and by the time the battle was over, the planet ended up as little more than a charred hunk of rock flying through space and the Autobots had no other choice but to move on.

But this planet, Earth... Optimus had fallen in love with this world in less than a day. Sure, he had crashed into a patch of green somewhere in the city and had been panicking a bit because of the close proximity he had been in to two natives, but when he had seen the wild beauty outside the city, his spark had been instantly drawn to it. He hadn't been able to help it. Something about it had called out to him.

Cybertron was gone, but Earth was free of the Decepticon presence. It was safe. And he knew it could be home. He would do whatever he could to protect his new homeworld.

Optimus looked away from the red-orange-gold sunset to the two young humans reclined on Bumblebee's hood, whispering and giggling, unaware that their words could be easily heard by any of the Autobots, but Optimus chose not to listen. After all the help they had given the Autobots, Sam and Mikaela deserved some time together to nurture their blossoming relationship. Optimus wondered if they would become bond-mates in the future.

Sam winced when his fractured wrist was accidentally jostled and Mikaela immediately started to act like a worried femme around an ailing youngling. Optimus watched with amusement as Sam tried to fend her off, claiming that he was alright and that the painkillers were only wearing off; nothing to worry about.

One week ago, Optimus would not have imagined becoming friends with those two, but he realized nothing could have happened as fast as it had and Megatron might have not been defeated if it hadn't been for the humans' assistance. Optimus knew that humans had merely been trying to protect the only home they had, rather than fighting for the sake of the entire universe. To them, Earth _was_ their entire universe. They knew nothing else. The Autobots and the Decepticons were the first sort of extraterrestrial contact humans had ever had and they certainly weren't ready to accept it. Not yet. Maybe one day. There were humans out there who whole-heartedly believed that giant alien robots were behind the destruction in Mission City -- according to the various sites on the World Wide Web -- while many others were convinced that the giant robots had been some kind of government experiment that had gone haywire.

Optimus was content to let them believe what they wanted. The day would come when the Autobots would reveal themselves to the world, but for now, they were more than content to sit back and relax a little.

After all, they had earned it.

But there was something that was still bothering him.

Optimus waited until Bumblebee was gone to return Sam and Mikaela home before their respective curfews and until Ironhide had returned to the Lennox's residence to continue his watch over the family unit he had been, more or less, accepted into. He waited until the look-out point was empty before he approached the good medic Ratchet.

Ratchet was sitting on the edge of the bluff, staring up at the dome of stars overhead and kicking his legs back and forth like a youngling. Optimus carefully sat down next to him and prepared to engage him in an important conversation.

"Right there." Ratchet beat him to it, pointing to a far-off patch of sky.

"Huh?"

That had to be the most unintelligent thing ever to escape Optimus's vocal processor, but it wasn't often that his subordinates and friends caught him off-guard like that.

"I've been triangulating the last-known coordinates and with an estimate of the current drifting speed," Ratchet explained. "I do believe that Cybertron is in that direction; around there."

"Do you miss it?" Optimus asked.

"Every day." Ratchet replied. He put his hand down. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

It never failed to amaze Optimus how perceptive the medic could be. Perhaps that was a prerequisite if one was going to be spending their life fixing up damaged and often grouchy mechs.

"It's about Jazz." Optimus replied, knowing that he had Ratchet's full attention. "I wanted to know if there was any way..."

Blast it; he couldn't quite bring himself to finish that question. It was like even _asking_ if Jazz could be rebuilt was too much to hope for. But he couldn't let this go, not when even the smallest hope existed.

"He was torn in half, Optimus." Ratchet said. "The damage that had been done to his systems was extensive. I would have to cannibalize quite a lot of metal and wire to manage it and I'm not sure where I could get those." His optics narrowed. "Are you looking to give him a proper send-off?"

"Normally, yes, but..." Optimus hesitated briefly before reaching into subspace and pulling out the remaining fragment of the AllSpark he had rescued from Megatron's chest.

"The AllSpark!" Ratchet gasped. "Is it-- Is it all that's left?"

"Yes."

Ratchet looked between the fragment and Optimus several times before it dawned on him.

"You want to use that to bring Jazz back." he stated.

"Yes." Optimus said. "I've kept this from Bumblebee and Ironhide so far. Even Sam and Mikaela. I don't want them to get their hopes up about Jazz returning. There is every chance that this will not work, but if it is even remotely possible to bring Jazz back, I will not turn away from it."

Ratchet had taken the AllSpark fragment from him and was examining it with a critical eye. After a few moments of close examination, he gave his verdict.

"There is a chance. Jazz's spark-case is still completely intact and-- Well, this is the AllSpark. Frankly, we won't know anything until we give it a shot."

Optimus smiled. "Then we will give it a shot."

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Ratchet was the one in charge. With instructions to Ironhide and Bumblebee to explore and get to know their new home, Ratchet proceeded to drag Optimus to car junkyards all over creation -- and by that, he meant the state of Nevada -- and pick up scrapped parts. Optimus didn't often spend time under the medic's care or in his company, but he soon learned why Ratchet was (affectionately) called "the Hatchet" by many of the other Autobots behind his back. Ratchet as was driven and determined as a soldier of a battlefield. Now that he knew there was a chance to restore Jazz, however slim, he wouldn't let it go. Optimus was afraid that if this didn't work, Ratchet would blame himself for it.

But at the moment, the medic wasn't thinking about that. He was too focused on restoring Jazz's body to working condition and converting the scrapped car parts to usable material. It was almost fascinating to watch Ratchet work. Jazz's body went from two battered halves to a single unit with startling swiftness.

Finally, the day came to finally put the AllSpark fragment to use; to see if their efforts would yield the desired results or if it turned out to be all for naught.

"It had frag-well better." Ratchet grumbled. He sounded tired. He must have spent very little time in recharge all week. "After all this work..."

"Have faith, Ratchet." Optimus said, laying a calming hand on the medic's shoulder. "Although, Ironhide has been asking quite a few questions as of late. He wants to know where the two of us have been up to all week. He thinks we're hiding something."

"He can wonder." Ratchet snapped crankily. He had spent most of the morning polishing Jazz's body until it fairly shone in the early afternoon sunshine. It certainly didn't need any more polishing, but Optimus knew that Ratchet was trying to stall. He was plagued by doubts that this plan would work, so he was trying to put it off for as long as possible. Optimus didn't blame him for that, but it was very eerie to him; seeing this empty shell that had once been a good soldier and a better friend.

"Ratchet." Optimus stopped the medic's arm. Ratchet threw down the rag almost reluctantly.

Currently, they were standing in a car scrap-yard that they had decided would be a good place when they had noticed its out-of-the-way location and extreme lack of use. As far as they were aware, the government was still searching a place that would be suitable for the Autobots to call home-base.

Ratchet produced the AllSpark fragment from subspace and stared accusingly for a moment. He looked at Optimus, who nodded. Ratchet opened the empty spark-case and inserted the fragment, then closed it up again and waited. So fixated on the unmoving form before them, they didn't hear the rumble of a GMC Topkick's engine that was approaching the scrap-yard from the distance.

For a long moment, it seemed, absolutely nothing happened and Optimus bowed his head, despairing but willing to accept reality. Then Ratchet grabbed his arm and pointed. Optimus looked. Tendrils of blue light were racing along the few exposed wires and over the metal skin, like nerve impulses. And then, to his complete joy, a finger twitched and then the hand curled into a fist and loosened. Optimus felt a surge go through his own spark, one that filled his entire mechanical body. His gaze shot over to Ratchet, who stared back in equal awe and joy. No words passed between them, but each knew exactly how the other felt.

The two mechs crowded over their comrade, waiting for Jazz to come online. His mental state still needed to be assessed, after all, but for the most part...

The blue visor lit up.

The next Optimus knew, he and Ratchet were straining to pin down a screaming, flailing Jazz. Of all things that could have happened, Jazz had woken in full, raging battle-mode, locked in that last moment when Megatron had been tearing him in half. Jazz was not a large mech, which would have made him easier to restrain under different circumstances, but here he was running on pure fear and anger. That made things very difficult for the two larger mechs. Jazz's main cannon was still fully online and the last thing either of them needed was him firing off a few rounds. Particularly on them.

And then Ironhide came barreling into the area, cannons primed and ready to start shooting things up. He faltered when he saw Jazz.

"Wha-- Prime, what's-- Jazz?" Ironhide asked weakly, his cannons powering down with a confused sort of whine.

"Would you get over here and give us a hand, you slagging scrap pile?!" Ratchet shouted, nearly thrown off by a well-placed whack to the chassis from Jazz's arm. Looking rather confused -- slag, he had only come to tell these two that the government had found a potential home-base for them and if they would please come look at it and make sure they found it suitable -- Ironhide rushed over to assist in pinning down the flailing mech. Jazz seemed to panic even more when he saw Ironhide. While trying to keep a grip on Jazz's arm, Ratchet grabbed the metal pole he had been using to beat stubborn car parts into submission and whacked Jazz in a specific place across the head with it.

The effect was instantaneous. Jazz went limp immediately, visor darkening.

"Hmm... Normally, that takes several seconds." Ratchet said thoughtfully, peering at the metal pole. "Either my aim has gotten much better or this is harder than what I've used before."

A groan issued from Jazz, followed by: "...Ra'chet... hate ya..." His visor flickered back to life, taking in the scene before him. "Hey Prime, Ironhide. Miss me?..."

"It is good to hear your voice again, friend." Optimus said, smiling. "It is good to have you back."

"Good t' be back..." Jazz started to sit up, but Ratchet shoved him right back down and started to run diagnostics. "Primus, hasn't even been a minute Ratchet. C'n't I have a moment t' say 'hi'?"

"Jazz, you've been in two pieces for well over a week." Ratchet informed him. "You'll forgive me for wanting to make sure there are no unwanted side-effects."

Jazz grumbled, but otherwise submitted to the checks peacefully. Ironhide was glaring at Optimus for not giving him even the smallest hint that something like this was going to happen and Bumblebee was likely to be even less happy about not being informed of this.

But Optimus was too pleased to notice or care.

The AllSpark had done its final duty as a bringer of life.

* * *

--June 15th--

Shooting stars often went unnoticed in the middle of the day, at noon when the sun was high in the sky. Unfortunately for this particular shooting star, it was the middle of the night. More than one person noticed a ball of fire streak over the Nevada sky to crash in a field some sixty miles from Tranquility, sending waves of dirt and sod several feet into the air. The people passing on the road nearby stamped on their brakes when they glanced out their car windows to have a look.

From the crater that had been created, a damaged protoform slowly emerged at a crawl, leaking slow trickles of coolant and energon, but most fortunately, nothing life-threatening. The leaks would stop soon enough. However, what was more pressing were the native creatures approaching rapidly. The mech's internal systems whirred, blue optics peering curiously at the small, bipedal creatures whipping out small mechanical devices. Then its processor registered "danger". Some of those were communication devices and it had no way of knowing if who or what they were contacting was a threat. Best not to take any chances.

Momentarily forgetting about the damage to its body, the mech heaved itself to its feet and half-ran, half-staggered away, trying to lose the small organic creatures in the deep mountains it saw and prayed that the organics had the sense to not follow.

After several minutes of hard running, the mech made a short sweep of the area. Sensing no life forms in the immediate vicinity, it allowed itself to collapse in the dirt and hard rocks, its right leg throbbing angrily from the abuse it had just been forced to endure. The mech stayed there, too exhausted to move, but ran a check on its battered systems. It had lost its long-range sensors while entering the atmosphere -- it **had **been entering at full burn, which probably hadn't been a good idea in retrospect. Long-range communications had been gone for some time now. The short-range sensors were shot and no doubt the short-range communications were in much the same condition. It trans-scanner was still in working condition -- of all the things to be working perfectly!-- but the transformation cogs might not survive past one transformation. The heating and cooling systems were working at 48.7 percent efficiency and the self-regeneration system was down around twenty percent.

_Slagging brilliant... I think I can forget about trying to learn the local language..._

Eventually, it occurred to the mech that it couldn't stay here; not like this, in this form. It stuck out way too much. It had to get hidden before its enemies found it. It was far too damaged to be much good in a fight anyways.

Slowly, the mech rolled over, hisses of pain escaping its vocal processor. It sat up and dragged itself over to the nearest boulder, so to lean against it, and gingerly held its right leg, poking and prodding very gently, trying to sort out the wires and metal. Unfortunately, its leg was a bit of mess at the moment. It couldn't make any repairs.

_I am so slagged once Ratchet gets a hold of me._

The mech shifted and winced, clutching its leg. It had enough sense to realize that walking was a big no-no. It was still very much exhausted; in need of a long recharge and repairs. There were other things it badly wanted to do, but logic was quickly overriding emotion. It needed to get to safety. For now, the safety of a stylish alt-mode would do, and then it needed to find its comrades. They were definitely somewhere on this-- this _extremely_ organic planet. The mech was certain it was crashed fairly close. It needed to warn its comrades of the coming attack.

It was going to come.

It was definitely going to come.

It was just going to come a lot sooner than the mech thought.

A sonic boom shuddered through the night air, the shadow of a jet already far ahead on the ground. The F-22 Raptor banked sharply, momentarily blocking out the moonlight. The mech jerked its head up to watch the progress of the jet, optics narrowed in anger.

_A Decepticon... A Seeker... Slag!_

The Seeker dived and skimmed low over the ground, throwing dirt and rocks at the mech. Forcing the dust out of its intakes, the mech stood up, leaning heavily on a large rock, just in time to see the jet land on the uneven ground and transform in an annoyingly familiar Decepticon.

"Starscream!" the mech roared, reaching hastily for the gun stowed in its subspace compartment.

The Seeker smiled wickedly and raised his twin null rays.

"Bye-bye Autobot!" Starscream shrieked and fired.

Maybe it was the darkness or maybe it was just a stroke of luck -- or maybe Starscream was a worse shot than he let on -- but the null rays missed by _just_ enough. The mech rolled to the side and hit the dirt. Right leg largely useless, it crawled away rapidly, trying to put as much distance as possible between it and the Seeker. Retreating was a coward's move and went against ever shred of pride it possessed, but fighting back _really_ wasn't an option at the moment. Growling and grumbling up a storm and wincing in pain every so often, the mech crawled for cover. It reached its gun and then turned to fire on the Seeker, but the Decepticon was gone.

Starscream had taken to the air. Reaching the required altitude, he wheeled about and locked on to his intended target, then dropped one of his new cluster bombs. The stupid Autobot didn't even have time to react, he noticed. There was a massive explosion of dirt and rock. Starscream dipped low to see if the bomb had hit and a thrill of pleasure sang through his circuits when he saw that it had. Humming a victory song of sorts, the Seeker climbed back in altitude and disappeared back into the night sky. True, he had assigned Skywarp to the task of scrapping the errant Autobot, but when it came to things like scrapping Autobots, he just hated to be left out of the fun.

A singed and smoking mech was left behind, but not nearly as dead as Starscream would have liked.

A single finger twitched.

* * *


	2. Chpt1: Up and Running

**A/N:** Yes, the gratuitous spelling errors are deliberate. Would you believe me if I said that block of half-intelligible print was how this story initially started out?

Well... The reviews -- so far have been -- glowing -- I guess. Nothing bad has been said yet, so I guess I'm doing something right. Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter One: Up and Running

* * *

"_I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars: We are here. We are waiting."_

_--cheat tlak to him idf he thinks he is that great cheatcheatcheatbastard slagging Volvo scuking slagger can't tghink of a better insult t-too tired hope your monifng energon is poisoned and I hope you die a horriblet erribkledeath death yous ouped up skagginf pitna higgung fragging slagger you all slagginf cons glitchglitchglitchglitch frag too cold too far form home wheres he gonegonegonegonegone slaggit what's that--!--------_

The rest was static.

Sitting far from the northern Nevada city of Tranquility was a large Peterbilt semi-truck, painted blue with red flames across the blue surface. If one was watching it now, they would have sworn that the truck seemed to be leaning to a side, as though it were listening for something that it could just barely hear.

And that was the truth.

The Peterbilt was actually an alien robot from outer space currently in disguise and his name was Optimus Prime.

Optimus swore softly when he lost the (unintentional) transmission. It was difficult to say who had (unintentionally) sent that. Under the right circumstances, there were a number of Autobots who had exceedingly foul mouths. Optimus himself was actually no exception; he just happened to keep it in control much more often than the others.

Briefly, Optimus considered prodding his fellow Autobots awake to see if they might have caught that, but he decided against it in the end. The newly-restored Jazz (thanks to the remaining fragment of the AllSpark) wouldn't take to kindly to be dragged out of some desperately-needed recharge time (dying and then being brought back can take a lot out of a mech) and Ratchet had made it perfectly clear that he would personally rearrange Optimus's bodywork into a flame-patterned coffee maker and sell him on EBay if he so much as **thought **of interrupting Jazz's recharge time. Since Ratchet occasionally made good on his threats -- just to keep his charges on their toes -- Optimus wasn't keen on spending the rest of his life pumping out coffee for irritable caffeine-deprived humans. And Bumblebee, for all his kindness and understanding, made one grouchy little minibot when disturbed while recharging.

It just wouldn't do to bother Ironhide at this time of night. Especially not while he was the family vehicle for Major Lennox and his child Annabelle waking up at odd hours in the night, crying for one reason or another.

No Autobots had made contact and Optimus had no way of knowing if the message he had sent out had even reached anyone. Everyone must have been much further behind than he had initially thought. They had been so scattered in their search for the AllSpark. It had been just about three weeks (Earth-time) since he had sent his transmission and had gotten not one reply. That frustrated him greatly.

So wouldn't it just figure that the first possible response was garbled almost beyond understanding.

What worried Optimus more was that there was no way of telling who it was, how far the Autobot was from Earth or what had caused the interruption of the transmission. It sounded like the Autobot in question had been attacked. Optimus wasn't going to ignore that as a possibility. Starscream was still out there, after all, and Primus only knew how many other of his allies might have made it to Earth by this point.

But there was little that could be done right now. Optimus settled back to go back into recharge, reminding himself to relay the new information when the sun rose.

* * *

"_This had slag well better be important Optimus._" Ironhide groused as he roared his way back to their temporary base.

"_Calm down Ironhide. I'm not calling you here for nothing._" Optimus informed his grumpy Weapons Specialist.

"_I barely got any recharge last night. Forgot how ornery sparklings can be when they don't wanna recharge._" Ironhide grumped, skirting around a slow-poke Toyota and scaring the sleepy driver, referring the Lennoxes' child.

"_I recharged great._" Jazz's voice broke in.

Ironhide made some sort of growling noise that made a tough-looking biker-guy jump and look around in alarm.

"_I don't wanna hear it, slagger._"

"_Then again, Ratchet hit me up wit' a sedative..._"

"_You needed it._" Ratchet shot. "_You want to talk ornery sparklings, Ironhide? Jazz was acting like one last night._"

"_Hey! Hey, I'm righ' here ya know!_"

"_Stop it, you two._" Optimus ordered. "_Bumblebee, are you going to be making it today?_"

"_I don't think so, sorry._" Bumblebee replied apologetically. "_Sam was complaining about his stomach hurting last night and his core temperature went up a few degrees overnight._"

"_Hmm... Most of Tranquility has been dealing with a case of Gastroenteritis lately._" Ratchet said thoughtfully.

There was momentary silence on the comm. channels.

"_Say __**what**__?_"

"_English, Ratch. __**English**__._"

"_Stomach flu._" Ratchet simplified, oh-so slightly sarcastically. "_Don't worry about it, Bumblebee. The virus will run its course in twenty-four hours. However, I would feel better if you could stay there and keep an optic on Sam to make sure his condition doesn't worsen._"

"_In th' meantime... Boss, maybe ya oughta tell us th' big news now._" Jazz suggested.

"_I'm almost there._" Ironhide announced. He turned onto the half-paved road that led to their temporary base, his tires spitting up pebbles in the morning half-light.

"Base", at this point in time, was an old missile silo; an until-recently forgotten remnant of the Cold War. It contained a small honeycomb of underground tunnels and three warehouse structures on the surface that were going to be heavily-reinforced once the Autobots found the time. Just trying to establish themselves was hard enough. After carefully knocking out some ceilings and modifying the entrance, Ratchet had claimed two rooms as his med-bay and since no one wanted a twenty-five-foot tall robot to go storming through any major cities like Godzilla, the other Autobots had let him have it.

With a careful look around, Ironhide transformed and approached the door. As usual, he scowled. Even if the base was only temporary, they really needed to consider getting some kind of security system in place for the time being. Red Alert would probably fry his circuits and explode if he knew about this.

Ironhide slipped inside, ducking his head. The ceiling was a few inches too low. At least, he reflected, he wasn't as tall as Optimus. Optimus was forced to walk almost bent double in order to just fit. The network of tunnels were largely inaccessible; to Optimus, Ironhide and Ratchet in particular. Bumblebee and Jazz were the only two Autobots who could walk through them without having to stoop to an insane degree. The silo itself was basically the command center and that's where Optimus spent most of his time because it was the only place where he comfortably fit.

This was really the best they could do until they got permission from the government -- as well as the means -- to pull the _Ark_ out of its orbit around the moon. They hadn't done this yet because they didn't want to go upsetting the humans and lose the tentative trust they had been able to develop with the government.

Ironhide ducked again as he entered the silo. It was a bit of a tight fit, usually requiring them to revert to alt-mode in order to avoid whacking one another with flying hands during any given discussion. Only Optimus and Ratchet had taken their standard modes; Ratchet deliberately standing over Jazz. The Solstice looked positively tiny compared to the three monster mechs standing around it.

"I received a transmission last night on the standard frequency--" Optimus said, cutting right to the chase but was quickly cut off when his comrades crowded him. Even Jazz, who had transformed and practically crawled onto Ratchet's shoulders.

"You did?!"

"Who?!"

"Are they bringin' anyone wit' them?"

"_Is it the Twins?_"

Bumblebee's words brought things to a screeching standstill and everyone tried not to contemplate what Earth was going to be like if those twin terrors ever found their way to this small blue-green planet. Earth would never be prepared, no matter how much warning it got.

"_Well, c'mon Optimus! Who is it? I don't read minds! I'm the one sitting in a driveway here!_"

"Calm down Bumblebee. And in answer to your question, I do **not** know who it is." Optimus replied, feeling strangely claustrophobic.

"That ain't helpful, man." Jazz commented dryly.

"The transmission was corrupted." Optimus explained. "At this juncture, I can only assume that it was an Autobot. The transmission included the words -- and I quote: 'slagging 'Cons'. I don't believe it was intentionally sent. It was, however, cut off halfway. Secondly, the morning news reports are saying that a large-impact crater was discovered near Highway 447 shortly after a meteor was seen in the atmosphere. And there was a small-scale explosion in the neighboring mountains only ten minutes later."

The gathered Autobots contemplated that information for a moment.

"It could be anyone." Ratchet finally concluded; rather needlessly. "Whoever it is must be badly damaged, if they haven't made contact yet."

"Yes, I also fear that Starscream has returned." Optimus said heavily.

"Which might account for the small-scale explosion." Ironhide added. "It would be too much to hope for the newcomer to be Wheeljack, wouldn't it."

"'_Hide, if that was the case, then we'd need to find a new, non-flammable base in a hurry._"

"Couldn't have said it better myself, kid." Jazz sniggered.

"Nonetheless, we need to investigate before the humans move in too far." Optimus put in. "Ratchet, be prepared for any injuries. Ironhide, damage-control, in case we're being fooled and it turns out to be a Decepticon. Jazz, stay here and keep watch on the comm. channels. Same goes for you, Bumblebee."

"_Roger that, Optimus._"

"Autobots, transform and roll out!"

* * *

Lately, Sam Witwicky considered himself one lucky bastard. He had the car of his dreams, the girl of his dreams and his best friends were super-intelligent, giant transforming robots from outer space. It was hard to get much cooler than that.

His parents had even bought the story about his 1976 Camaro getting smashed to bits after being commandeered and the army replacing it with a brand new, shiny 2009 GTO Camaro Concept, complete with a custom paint job -- it was a car that technically didn't exist yet, but Sam wasn't about to argue the details -- as compensation for getting kidnapped by Sector Seven. Ron and Judy Witwicky had been ready to complain, but the government had offered professional work to restore their yard to pristine condition as part of the incentive package. All they had to do was sign on the dotted line, keep their mouths screwed shut on the matter and no one would ever really know that Earth had made first contact with aliens.

These days, life was good.

Unfortunately, at the moment, Sam did not feel like a lucky bastard. He felt like shit.

He concluded that at some point during the night, someone had stretched his limbs on a medieval torture rack and then proceeded to beat him over the head with a gong while using his ribcage as a xylophone. With hammers.

He had the flu.

That was just insult to injury, really.

Sam had not escaped the final battle unscathed. In addition to numerous scrapes and bruises all over his person, he had managed to fracture his left wrist -- he hadn't noticed until Ratchet pointed it out to him -- burn the palms of his hands -- courtesy of the AllSpark -- and somehow, _somehow_ managed to break his little toe. Accomplishment of said feat was still lost on him. He was still walking around with a slight limp and it had taken a while before he convinced Bumblebee that the limp wasn't going to cause an untimely death. The burns were very slow to heal, which was why they still bothered him three weeks later. Sam suspected it was because they were of "extraterrestrial origins", so naturally, it seemed, they were going to take twice as long as normal to heal. They didn't irritate him much, thanks to the special salve from Ratchet that Mikaela had been instructed to liberally apply on a daily basis. Sam was quite sick of seeing bandages now, but until the redness went away, he had been told to keep his hands covered up.

Truthfully, Sam was amazed that he wasn't more beat-up than he was.

His head throbbing, Sam peered blearily at the silent radio clock on the table beside him. He had school today. He was supposed to turn in his final paper for English class today and he was supposed to have done that-- erg... _forty-five minutes ago_. Stupid flu. It had been going around during the last week or so. Mikaela had caught it, but Sam had carefully avoided meeting with her until she felt better and then later had congratulated himself for avoiding it completely.

Clearly, he had failed to not catch it.

"Sam!"

His mother's voice came from the stairwell.

"Sam, why are you still here?! You've got school today!"

He responded with a throaty groan and was annoyed to find that his throat was sore too.

Moments later, Judy barged in to see why her offspring wasn't responding in a more coherent way.

"Sam, did you hear me?" Judy asked, planting her hands on her waist. "You're not missing any school. You have your final exams next week! Do you really want to flunk the eleventh grade?"

Sam moaned incoherently and his face buried in his pillow, wishing his mother would just shut up so he could go back to sleep. Ooh, even his eyes hurt. Frowning, Judy sought out his forehead.

"Good lord, you're burning up!" she exclaimed. "You are staying home today young man! No excuses! I'll go call the school." she added before leaving in a noisy bustle.

Sam mumbled something unintelligible. Had it been intelligible, it would have consisted of something about how he didn't want to move anyways. There was no point in trying to form a coherent response. His mind didn't want to muddle through the process. It was too complicated.

So he spent the entire day in bed, fast asleep, unless his mom came up to make him swallow an aspirin for the headache and the various aches. Then he was plagued by his intestines tangoing with the rest of his vital organs until he could fall asleep again.

Some time later, when he was aware that the late afternoon sunshine was gracing his windowsill, he heard his bedroom door creak open. Sam opened his mouth to tell his mother to please go away, he felt like he was going to vomit, but if she would please bring him a bucket before she did because he didn't think he was going to be able to get out of bed.

"Sam?"

Oh, it was Mikaela. Well, that was different then...

"Your mom told me that you caught that flu that's been going around." she said with sympathy, adjusting the plate of dry toast and a glass of orange juice in her hands because Judy Witwicky knew full well that her son wasn't going to be able to handle tonight's dinner of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. "How are you feeling?"

Sam's reply sounded like it belonged to Mojo when the crazy little mutt was pining for his pain pills.

"Don't worry. It'll only last two days." Mikaela assured him, brushing aside bits of paper and stale sandwich crust so she could set the plate and glass on the bedside table. "Your mom sent up some food."

Sam managed to look up and his stomach curled in revulsion. The orange juice didn't look too bad. It probably wouldn't sit well, but at least it would sit. If he ignored the dry toast, he could probably ignore that about-to-vomit feeling that had been swimming around his innards for the last half-hour.

"Oh man..." Sam groaned and covered his head with the pillow so his not-quite-yet- girlfriend couldn't see his blood-shot eyes. "...Don' think I c'n stomach that..."

"You have to try and eat something." Mikaela said, laying a cool hand on the back of his neck.

For a moment, all Sam did was lay there, because Mikaela's hand felt so good where it was. Y'know, he had never noticed before now that she had awfully smooth hands. What sort of lotion did she use? It smelled nice; sort of flowery, but not overwhelming.

"Mikaela, my stomach feels like it's trying to crawl its way up my throat..." Sam proceeded to inform her in a long-suffering sort of voice in an attempt to get his mind off her lotion. "If I eat anything, my intestines are going to commit homicide..." He frowned. Something wasn't right with that statement. "Wait... If your own internal organs try to kill you, are they committing homicide or suicide?..."

"I really don't know, Sam." Mikaela said with a laugh, rubbing his back sympathetically. When she'd been sick with this flu, her stomach had felt like it had a mind of its own. And an evil one at that. She knew exactly what Sam was going through right now.

"My dad got out of jail last week." she went on. "He's been staying with my uncle; his brother until he can get a place of his own. They're a pair of grease monkeys. They get along pretty okay. I'm going to spend the weekend with them. My mom doesn't like it, but..."

"S'grea'..." Sam slurred, trying to show a little enthusiasm, his voice muffled by the mattress.

"Yeah..." Mikaela agreed. She couldn't wait. It had been so long since she had last seen her father. She didn't care about his history; she loved him anyways. "Hey if you weren't sick, I'd ask you to come too."

"Nah... He's your dad... First time you should see him by yourself..." Sam muttered, still attempting to inject some enthusiasm into his voice and failing. He hoped his sentence had made sense. It hadn't to him.

"You're sweet Sam." Mikaela smiled at him. She started rummage through her purse. "Here, sit up and let me take care of your hands while I'm already here."

Sam obediently turned over, held out his bandaged hands and let Mikaela unwrap them. He flexed his fingers as open air hit the damaged skin of his palms. The burns tingled a little. He felt fingers brush lightly across the worst of the burns on the heel of his left palm. The muscles underneath twitched and it wasn't due entirely to the slight pain the feather-light touch had caused.

"The redness is starting go away. Probably won't be much longer until you have to stop wrapping them up."

She slathered the salve on like paint and then wrapped fresh bandages around Sam's hands. Mikaela was strangely skilled at this. Sam had not bothered to ask where she had gotten so good and did not feel inclined to pose the question now.

"There, all done." She put the leftover salve and bandages away. Sam was still hiding his face under his pillow. "C'mon Sam, you can't look that bad."

"Blood-shot eyes do nothing for my manly appearance..." Sam half-groaned, holding tightly to one corner of the pillow. He hadn't actually seen himself in a mirror today, but since he felt terrible, he probably looked terrible as well. That and he'd only opened his eyes a grand total of four times today. He didn't think his pupils could take the sunlight and survive.

"Whatever you say." Mikaela rolled her eyes. "Hey, guess what?"

"What?..."

"We've only got three days of school left! Then we get to spend our entire summer with giant robots!" Mikaela added, lowering her voice somewhat for that. Unless she was mistaken, Sam's parents didn't know about Bumblebee yet.

Sam tried to make an enthusiastic, happy sound but failed miserably.

Right then, Judy poked her head through the bedroom door.

"Mikaela, sweetie, would you like to stay for dinner tonight?" Judy asked. She had really taken a shine to her son's (first) girlfriend and had been trying to get her around for dinner as often as possible. "We're having mashed potatoes and meatloaf." she added.

"That's sounds wonderful, Mrs. Witwicky. I'd love to." Mikaela said, figuring that she might as well take the opportunity to get a good home-cooked meal because neither her father nor her uncle were the best of cooks. Tomorrow and Sunday, she just knew she'd be having pizza and Chinese-takeout. Though not in that order.

"It's 'Judy' dear and I'll make a plate for you to take home." Judy said happily and then retreated before Mikaela could protest the extra plate.

"Don't say a word." she warned Sam, who was starting to shake with laughter. Then he sat up, sprang out of bed and made a mad dash out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, the door flying into the wall in his haste.

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been shaking with laughter.

Around 8:00, Mikaela bade the Witwickys goodbye after promising to come around for dinner again on Monday. She stretched the arm not holding the covered dish, enjoying the early summer warmth. It was twilight; the sky streaked with reds and golds in the west and a deep navy in the east. The first glimmers of stars were beginning to show. The birds had mostly quieted down and it was the crickets and frogs' turn to make some noise.

Strolling down the front walk, Mikaela suddenly realized that she had no way of getting home. She had come here right after school, the bus having dropped her off a few blocks from the Witwicky household. Normally, she counted on Sam being able to give her a ride home, but since he had been bent over the toilet again when she had left and her mother never bothered to ask if she needed a ride anywhere these days and the Witwickys probably assumed that she had a ride, she was a bit stuck.

The thought had barely formed in her mind when a bright yellow Camaro with two black racing stripes on its hood came rolling silently down the driveway like its parking brake had given out. Its driver side door popped open in a silent invitation.

Okay, not so stuck then.

"Thanks, Bumblebee." Mikaela said gratefully, slipping into the driver's seat, tossing her bag onto the passenger's seat and carefully balancing the plate on top of it. His engine revving slightly, Bee backed out of the drive and into the street and then zoomed off.

"Is Sam okay?" a scratchy and ill-used voice inquired, almost frantically. "Ratchet said nothing was really wrong, but he spent all day asleep and now--"

"Bee, calm down or you'll blow out your voice again and Ratchet will melt you down to scrap." Mikaela interrupted and the Camaro fell silent instantly.

The AllSpark had gone a long way in repairing the busted vocal processor, but Ratchet had advised Bumblebee that he keep the talking to a minimum. It still had a long way to go.

There was a crackle of static from the radio instead.

"Sam'll be fine. He just caught a stomach bug." Mikaela said, patting the steering wheel. "He'll be fine by Monday."

There was another crackle of static and the radio flipped around before settling on techno station. Mikaela glanced at the radio. Bee seemed to have developed a particular liking for techno music. Mikaela didn't care much for it, but it wasn't like she was actually in charge of the radio dial.

_Live with it. Keep the 'bot happy. _She told herself. _He's your ride home._

Bumblebee pulled up in her driveway a half-hour later. Mikaela thanked him for the ride, told him to be careful on his way back, and then headed inside where she was instantly confronted by her mother.

"Hi Mom." Mikaela said.

"Are you packed for the weekend?" Mrs. Banes asked, hands on her hips. "Night-clothes, toothbrush--"

"I've got it all, Mom; don't worry." Mikaela assured her and then slipped past the older woman to go to her room. Sighing, Mikaela dropped her bag on the floor. It hit with a loud clunk, as there were at least three large, heavy books in it; all of them needed for her final exams.

Let the cramming begin.

* * *

Now that every major organ below his diaphragm had stopped square-dancing, Sam felt marginally better. He had woken up hungry around 10:00 and he hadn't been able to go back to sleep because his stomach, pining for food, hadn't let him. Since the need to vomit had passed several hours hour, he had managed to keep down a bit of that dry toast and some mashed potatoes as well. Whether or not it would actually **stay **down was a different matter entirely, but for the moment, the food seemed to be sitting pretty.

Sam had flicked on the TV in his bedroom to catch the first half of the 11:00 news and was now listening with half an ear to the weather report. He wished he had been more coherent when Mikaela had come by this afternoon, but there had been no help for it. He swore he had been drugged to the gills with aspirin. He just hoped that he hadn't said anything stupid to her.

At his feet, Mojo let out a squeaky yawn and turned over. Sam nudged the Chihuahua with his toe. Mojo turned over again so that he was lying in his back, paws sticking straight up in the air comically.

Sam's attention flickered back to the news when he heard the word "meteor". He sat forward and turned the volume up a notch or two.

"...was spotted late last night around 1:30 local time some thirty miles out of Reno." the reporter was saying. He shuffled his papers. "Now, like most meteors, this one probably burned up in the atmosphere, but there are some eyewitnesses saying that it impacted less than a mile from interstate 447. We have chopper footage from earlier in the day and we'll show you the impact-site here--"

The screen changed and Sam's jaw dropped at the sight on the crater. It had to be at least eight feet deep and about twelve feet in length; ignoring the furrow in the ground behind it. It looked like something very large and heavy had rammed into the earth at very high speeds.

"Like... Like an Autobot." Sam muttered thoughtfully, his mind kicking into gear. "Where is interstate 447 anyways?"

Before he could jump out of bed and Google it, the reporter continued.

"In addition, there was a small explosion in the neighboring mountain range. Local authorities have concluded so far that it was a military experiment, but due to the treacherous nature of the area, they have been unable to get close enough to check. It is unlikely that these two incidents are related, but authorities remain on-guard nonetheless."

"Oh, c'mon!" Sam threw the nearest rolled-up sock at the TV screen. "They're related and you know it!"

Granted, he himself didn't really know, but it when came to small explosions and large craters, Sam felt he had enough experience to safely assume that the two events were connected.

Shaking his head, he reached for his mobile phone with the intention of calling Miles to let his buddy know that he was still alive, because Miles had called twice today trying to figure out just that. The phone was new, relatively speaking. His old one had been lost some time before Mission City. His new one was an older model, but it could be counted as new because it had never been used before. His parents hadn't been willing to shell out more money than they had to for one of the shiny new models, leaving Sam to spring for something that only did text messages, pictures and (gasp!) actually called someone.

Maybe it was how he picked up the small device, but the burn along the bottom of his left hand suddenly seared. It felt like someone had just jabbed two electric wires against his hand. Stifling a yelp, hand jerking spastically, Sam dropped the phone. It clattered on the floor, drawing Mojo's attention. The mutt sat up and jumped off and started sniffing the phone curiously.

"Back off Mojo." Sam batted the little canine aside, but his mobile suddenly moved of its own accord. Mojo jumped back and barked at it. Wary now, Sam grabbed a pencil and poked the phone with the eraser. It rattled ominously, and then with a clicking and whirring of gears, it transformed in a similar fashion as the Autobots, sprouting several appendages, two eyes and a mouth. It looked up at him and made a chittering noise. In response, Mojo started to yip at it, his entire body quivering with each yip.

His mobile phone was alive.

The only plausible explanation for his cell phone coming to life like this was residual energy from the AllSpark left in the burns on his hands. Ratchet had warned him to watch out for that, though he hadn't thought it was going to be an issue. Sam hadn't either.

Sam made no sudden movements, carefully watching the mobile phone-turned- transforming-robot and vice versa. Its small blue optics swept over his body and the teen had a feeling that he was being scanned. What looked to be a miniature laser cannon unfolded from between its two optics and Sam got ready to jump out of the way if need be.

Oh, why did his mobile have to turn against him?

The miniature laser cannon remained trained on him for a moment before turning to Mojo who would not shut up, determined to rid his territory of this strange intruder. Sam remembered the Nokia phone in Hoover Dam and how it had nearly broken the glass box containing it with a bunch of little bullets, a little rocket, and a few flying leaps. That little thing had been one nasty little, AllSpark-powered cell phone.

Now he wondered what a Motorola flip-phone could dish out.

The mobile-phone-turned-transformer made another chittering noise and the laser cannon was tucked away. Then it turned back into a phone.

Tentatively, Sam poked it with his eraser again. Nothing happened. He poked it again, a little harder. The phone unfolded a little and two blue optics glared at him, letting out an annoyed squirk. The "don't poke me" message was clear. Other than that, Sam deemed it safe to pick up. He noticed that the Motorola logo was gone from the front and had been replaced by the little red emblem that designated the Autobots.

"My car isn't normal." Sam muttered. "Why can't I at least have a normal phone?"

Well, at least it wasn't shooting all over his room like a deranged ninja.

Clearly, Motorola was much more well-behaved than Nokia.

"Mojo! Leave it alone!"

Mojo had started batting the mobile phone which was now lying on the blanket. The phone wasn't taking any of that and transformed. It scuttled away like a crab and took a defensive stance that looked like it had come straight out of the bad kung-fu flick Sam had watched last Saturday with Miles. Mojo, thinking that he had found a playmate -- of some sort -- ducked down in the 'let's-play' position. Sam could almost hear the phone's little processor buzzing as it tried to figure out what the dog was doing. Then it decided that it didn't want to bother and skittered off the bed. Mojo followed with a happy yip.

"No..." Sam hissed and chased after them, hoping this wouldn't wake his parents. He didn't know which he was more worried about -- his dog or his phone -- but he didn't want either of them getting hurt.

The chase went downstairs and the little phone somehow managed to slip outside, Mojo right on its heels, Sam right on the dog's heels. So focused on getting his dog and his phone separated, Sam didn't notice when his Camaro decided to stand up until he abruptly came nose-to-leg with the Autobot.

"Bee!"

The teen jumped away, startled. Bumblebee blinked innocently down at his human charge.

"Don't do that!" Sam hissed, scooping Mojo off the ground. "What the hell are you doing anyways?! Not in the driveway!"

Mindful of Ratchet's threat of being scrapped if he talked unnecessarily, Bee didn't say anything but stretched his hand out to reveal the transforming cell phone, which had taken refuge on the larger Autobot, and then gave Sam a questioning look.

"Leftover AllSpark energy." Sam muttered, waving his left hand in response.

The yellow scout nodded in understanding and deposited the mini-mech in Sam's outstretched hand. Mojo yipped and tried to lunge for it, but the little mech hissed and snapped back.

"Okay, easy you two." Sam said, holding the two a little further apart, barely glancing up as his Camaro returned to being a Camaro. "Play nice."

The mini-mech made a hissing noise again, as though to say that it had no intention of playing nice with Mojo, and then snapped back into its alt-mode. Shaking his head, Sam headed back into the house. He left Mojo in the living room and went back to his bedroom. There he glared at his cell phone.

"And you."

The phone chirped questioningly.

"Don't provoke my dog."

The phone chirruped an affirmative.

* * *

**Systems rebooting...**

**... ... ...**

**Searching for connection to CPU.**

**... ... ...**

**Connection: successful. Running systems check.**

**... ... ... **

**Multiple malfunctions detected. Energy levels at 14.2 percent. 83.6 percent of frame damaged. Systems working at 15.9 percent efficiency. CPU shut-down imminent. Engage safety protocols. Initiating stasis-lock--- --- **

**Overriding stasis-lock.**

**... ... ...**

**Stasis-lock successfully overridden. Action command?**

**... ... ...**

**Engaging scanners.**

**... ... ...**

**Scanners detect oil-burning, V12 internal combustion engine. Rear mid-engine, rear-wheel drive layout. Aluminum-metal frame is approximately one-sixty-three inches by seventy-nine inches by forty-two inches. Suitable for alternative mode. **

**Trans-scanner activated. Scan commencing.**

**... ... ...**

**Scan complete. Initiating transformation sequence.**

**... ... ...**

**Transformation complete. Energy levels are now at 10.8 percent. CPU shut-down imminent. Engage safety protocols.**

**Initiating stasis-lock. **

* * *

They were still waiting for the authorities to clear out. It was nearly nightfall and the reason the police were still milling about the impact-site was lost on the three Autobots hiding among the gentle roll of hills.

Ironhide shifted restlessly, very impatient to check things out, no matter how many times Optimus told him to stay still. The unidentified Autobot that had crashed to Earth had brought about at least fifteen possibilities as to who it could be. Personally, Ironhide didn't rightly care who it was so long as it wasn't "one of those Pit-slagging twins." Deep, deep in his processor, Optimus would have to agree that Earth would be better off without them. But right now, the Decepticons were probably regrouping in the wake of Megatron's defeat and the Autobots were going to need all the fighters that they could get.

Ratchet was just more worried about potential damage-control. He knew better than to hope the Autobot had arrived unharmed. He could only pray that the damage wouldn't be beyond his ability to repair, given the limited resources he had to work with.

Meanwhile, Optimus took a deep scan the crater, searching for an energy signature; anything that would lead to an identification. But he didn't see anything that looked like a protoform or even the desperate threads of the disbanded Sector Seven trying to regain some lost status. Only the local police swarmed the site, taking pictures and dirt samples.

Shortly, the authorities cleared out after placing caution tape and barriers to deter the curious from getting closer than they should. When the police lights were little more than blinking lights in the distance, the three Autobots moved in.

"Primus, finally!" Ironhide groaned, straightening out of his crouched position. "Sittin' like that all slagging day... Dunno how Bee does it..."

"_Welcome to the world of recon, Ironhide._" the scout retorted over the comm, which had been kept active just in case. "_Besides, I'm young and spry. You're old._"

"_Oi, Bee. Don' tie up th' comms._" Jazz admonished.

"_Speak for yourself._"

"Both of you get off the comm, now." Optimus ordered, feeling less like the commander of an army and more like the parent of several fussy children.

Ignoring what was going on, Ratchet walked over to the crater, carefully stepping over the caution tape and into the furrow. He kneeled down and activated the infrared scanners in his optics. The ground was still showing traces of high heat, meaning the mech had definitely come in at full burn. His scans were showing miniscule particles of Cybertronian metal and dried-up patches of energon and coolant. Unfortunately, all this told him very little.

"Ratchet, anything?" Optimus loomed over him.

"Nothing conclusive." Ratchet replied. "Other than that our mysterious mech must have been attacked before he entered the atmosphere. He's left a trail. It goes..." The CMO looked around and pointed to the mass of mountains not-too-distant. "That way."

Without a word, the trio made their way up the treacherous path into the mountains. It was clear why the human authorities hadn't investigated what had happened up here. The path was hard enough for the Autobots, but for the humans, it would have been flat-out dangerous. Eventually, they reached semi-level ground to find that most of it had been blasted in.

"That looks like Starscream's work." Ironhide said, pointing to the small crater. "Next time I see him, I'm blasting that slaggin 'Con out of the sky."

"Easy, Ironhide." Optimus said warningly.

"He collapsed here." Ratchet was saying, pointing to an unblasted, but still disturbed spot in the dirt. "And then dragged himself to there." He pointed a large boulder a few feet away. "Starscream must have done a fly-over and then landed..." Ratchet leaned forward and wiped a finger across the scorch mark that had melted part of the boulder. "Null rays. Starscream missed."

"That's a cluster bomb blast-radius." Ironhide said, gesturing to the small crater. He peered closer at it. "I don't think it was a direct hit."

"No, but the mech was close enough to be damaged from it, if the scans are anything to go by." Ratchet said, looking thoughtful.

"He's not in the immediate area anymore." Optimus said, looking around.

The three were silent for a moment, contemplating what could have transpired when Bumblebee's voice rang through on the comm.

"_Is there a road nearby?_"

"Yes." Optimus replied, though he was pretty sure he already knew where this was going.

"_Is it well-traveled?_"

"Yes." Ironhide said.

"_And does the area overlook it?_"

"Yes." Ratchet said, already heading to where he could see the highway.

"_Is it close enough to conceivably scan an alt-mode from?_"

"Primus, yes!" Ratchet shouted, slamming a hand into his head. He pointed down. "Tire tracks! And they go that way!"

"The slagger's got an alt-mode?" Ironhide asked incredulously. "Pit, we'll never find him now!"

"Provided he made it to the road in the first place." Ratchet grumbled, following the tracks, wondering just how the mech had made it through on four wheels. Ironhide made a grumbling noise and started to pace. Silence reigned between the two mechs for a long moment.

"Who are you hoping for, Ironhide?" Optimus asked.

Ironhide gave his commander a 'Do you have to ask?' look and grunted: "Chromia."

Of course. Optimus really needn't have asked. Ever since Megatron's defeat, Optimus had been hoping, praying for Elita; that she would be the first to arrive, unscathed, and jump in his waiting arms. It was difficult to sit back and wait for her to turn up. He wanted to go looking for her. He wanted to go looking for her so bad it made his spark ache. But he had a duty here that he couldn't abandon.

"Listen to me, Ironhide. If the newcomer turns out to be one or even both of the twins, you are going to suck it up and be civil to the point of flattering." Optimus ordered. "Understand?"

Ironhide grunted affirmative.

"Bad new, Optimus." Ratchet had returned, looking a bit forlorn. "I don't know how and I don't think I want to, but the mech's alt-mode made it all the way down the mountain-side and the tire tracks lead to the road. From there, I'm guessing he was picked up by a tow truck."

"That is bad news." Ironhide said flatly.

"On the other hand, his alt-mode is yellow." Ratchet said, rubbing two of his fingers together. "Some paint scraped off on the rocks. It's all I've got, though."

"The closest city is Reno." Optimus said thoughtfully. "If they thought the car was salvageable, it would have been taken to a garage for repairs. Otherwise, we'll find it in a scrap-yard. We need to recon the city."

"Send Jazz in. He's the most non-threatening." Ratchet suggested.

"_Hey! What's that s'pposed t' mean?!_"

Regardless, Ratchet was right. Ironhide was a big honking truck, Optimus was an even bigger honking truck, and Ratchet was an obnoxiously chartreuse Search-and-Rescue Hummer. A silver Solstice wouldn't go too amiss in Reno.

That and Jazz was their secret. Their human allies didn't even know that he had come back.

"Jazz, you're doing recon." Optimus commanded. "Get to Reno ASAP and find our wayward Autobot. His alt-mode is yellow."

"_Hey, now wait jus' a damn klik here--_"

"I pronounce you fit for duty." Ratchet dead-panned. "Light duty."

On the other end, Jazz snorted and shook his head.

* * *


	3. Chpt2: Reunions: Happy and Not So Happy

**A/N:** ...Wow... Seriously, just-- wow... You people are all awesome. Just -- _**awesome**_! I can't think of any other word for it! Awesome!

Right, well, if you haven't quite figured out who the new Autobot is, 'tis revealed in this chapter. Yes, it is a very familiar canon character, so no worries.

Read and enjoy!

**Disclaimer:**_ Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Two: Reunions: Happy and Not So Happy

* * *

Roland Banes -- fresh from prison and long-ago divorced from his wife -- currently lived on the outskirts of Reno with his brother Jeremy. Even though tinkering with cars had gotten him in jail in the first place, it was very much his passion and no amount of jail-time had diminished that. He loved cars; always had, always will. But there was only one thing that could easily top his love of cars, hands down and that was his little girl, Mikaela. For the first time in close to eight years, he was finally going to see her without a glass wall getting in the way. It had been three years since the last time he'd seen her and he simply couldn't wait to see just how much she had grown up. 

In her mother's minivan, Mikaela tried very hard to hold still. She couldn't wait to see her father again. She loved her mother, yes, but her mother just didn't approve of her hobby/love of fixing cars.

Leaning forward and peering through the rows of buildings, Mikaela could just make out the simple, slightly dilapidated, but still well taken care of auto-garage that her uncle owned and ran. It was a hard place to miss, since there tended to be an old battered tow truck sitting right out front and several cars in various states of disrepair out in order to catch the eyes of the passer-bys. It worked, admittedly.

Mrs. Banes snorted disdainfully as she pulled into the lot. Her lips were thin and pursed; her usual sign of disapproval. She had disapproved of how her ex-husband had raised their little girl.

The garage door stood open. Mikaela could hear the scrape of metal and tools at work. She could already smell the oil and hear the sparks of the welding torches hitting the floor. She took a deep breath and exhaled with the distinct feeling that she had just come home.

Mikaela grabbed her overnight bag and hopped out of the passenger's seat. Her mother was quick to follow in a fit of maternal over-protectiveness. She was certain to walk a step ahead of her daughter, like she was afraid that her ex-husband was going to jump out and attack them. Mikaela couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Mrs. Banes stopped just inside the garage, apparently not willing to get any closer to her ex-husband than she absolutely had to.

"If something happens or you feel uncomfortable or you want to come home, I want you to call me right away." Mrs. Banes said.

"Mom, I'll be fine." Mikaela said, tired of her mother's attempts to deter her from visiting her father. "Dad already said he's going to take me back for school on Monday morning and Sam'll be taking me home."

Mrs. Banes's eyes narrowed and Mikaela looked around. Her father was standing there, grinning from ear to ear, despite his ex-wife's puckered frown. Roland Banes looked just like Mikaela remembered; black hair and blue eyes just like her, perhaps a little leaner, but his arms still rippled with muscles and there was a tattoo that she hadn't seen before.

"Miki!" he said happily, his pet name for his beloved daughter and enfolded her in a bear hug. Then he released her to get a better look. "Let me have a look at you! My, you've gotten so pretty. You must be beating the boys off with a stick!"

Mikaela giggled. "Not with a stick. Just with a Camaro."

Before Roland could question that comment, Mrs. Banes cleared her throat pointedly. He looked at his ex-wife. "Cathy."

"Roland." Mrs. Banes nodded stiffly.

"I see life's been treating you well." Roland said with a politeness so forced Mikaela was surprised he didn't choke.

"And you." Mrs. Banes said in a dull tone. "No joyrides. No gambling." she added sternly. "I don't want to be picking her up from the police station in the morning. She's only 17."

"You worry too much Cathy." Roland told her. "I'm not going back to prison if I can help it. Just got out, y'see."

"G'bye, Mom. I'll see you Monday." Mikaela said pointedly, before things could escalate like they normally did. Keeping a stiff upper lip, Mrs. Banes turned sharply on her heel and marched back to her van.

"Bye Cathy." Roland said. Then he turned to his daughter. "So who's 'Sam'? And what did you mean by 'beating the boys off with a Camaro'?"

Mikaela broke into a fresh wave of sniggers. She had publicly dumped Trent in front of the rest of the school to make it "official", in a way. Trent had attempted to get revenge by going after Sam -- the rival male in that situation -- but after a timely intervention from Bumblebee that resulted in several people requiring a change of underwear, Trent had refused to come within 20 paces of Sam because of his "demon car" and by extension, Mikaela as well. He had tried several times, but he had always made the mistake of approaching them in the parking lot.

"Sam's my boyfriend-- Well, not quite. We haven't been going out that long; maybe a month." Mikaela amended, shrugging, trying to tally up the number of days she'd been consciously aware of Sam's existence. She hated to admit it, but she hadn't really noticed him until he pulled up at the lakeside in that '76 Camaro. Trent had been a rather high-maintenance boyfriend; very demanding of attention.

"Ah..." Roland said knowingly. "Now, the question is, will I like this 'Sam' when I meet him?"

"Yes." Mikaela assured her father. "And not just because he owns a Camaro." She looked around. "Where's Uncle Jeremy?"

"Aha, now this you've gotta see." Roland's eyes flashed excitedly and he led her further into the garage. Mikaela caught a flash of something yellow at the back of the garage. "Germ was nearly foaming at the mouth when he brought in last night. It's a pretty piece of work."

"Dad, what is it?" Mikaela asked, half-teasing, half-worried that her dad was falling right back into old habits.

Roland led his daughter around to the back of the garage where she had seen the flash of yellow. There was Uncle Jeremy bent over in the open hood of a low-slung car with a wrench and flashlight. The car itself was missing its wheels, so it was propped on the lift and covered in dried mud and grime. The doors were standing open. Roland poked his brother in the shoulder and the stocky man looked up, a screwdriver between his teeth. He managed a mangled smile at his niece.

"Didn't hear the bomb go off." he commented after removing the screwdriver. "Diffuse it early?"

"Yeah..." Mikaela replied. She put her bag down and moved closer to the junked car, examining it with interest. "What kind of car is this?"

"You don't recognize it? C'mon Miki, I taught you better than that." Roland said, crossing his arms. Mikaela examined the car's body closely. The framework did look familiar; wedge-shaped, particularly around the front end; definitely less than 100 inches in length, but the names of the cars that had low-slung bodies like this one eluded her. She shook her head.

"Can't place it." she admitted.

"Lamborghini." Uncle Jeremy grunted.

"A Lamborghini?" Mikaela did a double-take.

"1982 Lamborghini Countach, LP500S." Uncle Jeremy filled in, bending over the innards again. "Found it abandoned on the side of the road when I was comin' back last night. Looks like someone tried to scrap it. It's bright yellow underneath all this muck here." He patted the side panels in a friendly manner. "The tires were flat; full of rocks, back fender's been blown off, inside's _scorched_..." Uncle Jeremy paused and scratched his head, looking perplexed. "Hell, if I didn't know better, I'd swear someone dropped a friggin' bomb on it."

Mikaela took a closer look at the unfortunate Lamborghini. It was definitely painted a bright sunny yellow underneath all the mud and grass and grime that had accumulated on it. So far, no attempt had been made to clean it off. That was sort of the last step in any car tinkering, because it was the easiest part. Fix up the inside and then shine up the outside. She ran a finger over one the scorch marks on the door panel. In fact, there were a lot of scorch marks that were easily visible beneath the layer of grime. The poor thing looked like it had been caught in a fire.

"God, what the hell is up with this car? Can't make heads or tails of this mess." Uncle Jeremy muttered, sticking the screwdriver back between his teeth so that his rant became unintelligible. Curious, Mikaela peered under the hood and was shocked by what she saw. It was a mess indeed. She couldn't even see what sort of state the engine was in; provided it was even in the front of the car. The internal wires were everywhere, parts were blackened... It was no wonder that someone had tried to scrap this car. It didn't look like it could be saved.

_Not by a regular mechanic. Maybe a miracle-worker._ Mikaela thought and then added with a wry smile: _Or Ratchet._

Mikaela moved to have a look at the inside. It didn't seem to be in much better shape. The leather seats were cracked and peeling, the dashboard was covered in a fine layer of dust, but curiously, she didn't see a gearshift.

_No way this thing has an automatic transmission._ Mikaela snorted, sliding into the front seat. She put her right hand out, letting it hover over the spot where the gearshift should've been. She couldn't figure out why this particular Lamborghini didn't have one. Unless the previous owner had shelled out big bucks to have the transmission completely replaced so that it would an automatic, it should have had one. So why didn't it?

She ran her hands over the steering wheel, clearing away some of the dust. Some dirt had built up right in the center and she wiped it away, only to have the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Sitting right there in the center of the steering wheel was the same emblem there that designated an Autobot.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away.

Did the other Autobots know that this one was here?

Did they know it had nearly been busted to pieces?

Mikaela snuck out of the Lamborghini, fishing her cell phone out of her pocket while she hurried out the back door of the garage. She looked around to make sure there were no potential eavesdroppers.

And then she dialed Sam's number.

* * *

When something that sounded suspiciously like a Queens song blared in Sam's ear at ten that morning, he became quite convinced that his car and his cell phone were now in cahoots with each other and conspiring to destroy his love of sleeping in. Where else had the damned little machine gotten that music? Sam hadn't yet had the phone long enough to download anything into it. 

"M'up..." Sam mumbled. He cracked his eyes open and he greeted by the stupid little thing's bright blue optics; he had jokingly christened it "LG" sometime before he'd gone back to sleep and it was stuck now. The LCD screen bore the words "Mikaela calling" and then LG went back to phone-mode. He picked it up and held it to his ear. "...H'lo..."

"_Sam-- Sorry, did I wake you_?" Mikaela's voice asked. "_Should I call back?_"

"No, s'okay..." Sam assured her sleepily, rubbing the grit from his eyes. "Wha's goin' on? Thought you were with your dad..."

"_I am. But I found something important_." Mikaela said. She sounded nervous. "_I think I found an Autobot_."

"What?!" Sam woke up a little more and sat up, his thoughts falling together in an instant. "Did you hear about the crater too? I thought about calling you last night in case you didn't know, but I didn't know if my phone would let me--"

"_Sam!_" Mikaela cut off his babble right away. "_What's this about a crater?_"

"Oh-- Well, this meteor crashed the other night and I thought-- It made a big crater and the only thing I could think of that would make a crater that big--"

"_Sam, I get it._" Mikaela interrupted. "_I think my uncle picked it up before anyone else stumbled across it_."

"...What?"

"_It disguised itself as a bright yellow, 1982 Lamborghini Countach_."

"Sweet..." Sam muttered, smiling vaguely though he hadn't the slightest clue what a Lamborghini looked like. All he knew was that they were damn expensive. "Probably doesn't blend well, but sweet."

"_It's here at my uncle's garage. It's an absolute wreck, Sam. I don't think it's awake at all._"Mikaela explained, worried. "_Like my uncle said, it looks like someone dropped a bomb on it._"

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking hard. It would be stupid to assume that the Autobots didn't already know about the new arrival, as the meteor had come down the other night and there had likely been several news reports on it since then. It wasn't everyday that something foreign came crashing to Earth and leaves such a damn big crater behind.

"I think they know." he said at last, shrugging. "I mean... Really, how could they not?"

"_I know; I'm just worried._" Mikaela admitted. "_It's in really bad shape and with my uncle and my dad tinkering on it, I'm afraid they'll disconnect some wire that they shouldn't or mess the poor thing up in another way._"

"Does your dad know about me?" Sam suddenly asked, aware that he was changing the subject, but the thought had been niggling at him since last night.

"_Sam..._"

"What? I wanna know!" Sam said quickly. "For all I know, he's the sort of guy who talks about his gun collection that may or may not exist right before we go out for a date!"

On the other end of the line, Mikaela snorted with laughter, the tension in her body draining away. On his end, Sam scowled. It wasn't like he** wanted** to be threatened by said gun collection that may or may not have existed.

"_Don't worry, Sam. He doesn't have a gun collection. I can tell you that much._" Mikaela assured him. "_But my uncle does._"

"Oh, well that's different then-- Wait! No it's not!"

"_I'll see you at school Monday. Love you, Sam. Bye_."

She hung up before Sam could say a word back, like she was embarrassed by saying those words. But Sam was feeling very warm and fuzzy all over and very convinced that he had the universe's best girlfriend _ever_.

* * *

Slightly pink in the face -- ooh, that had just slipped out!-- Mikaela hurried back into the garage, hearing her dad calling her name. The activity in the garage had died a little. Standing near the entrance were her dad and uncle with a stranger dressed in a black sports coat with a clean white shirt underneath and black slacks. He had fine dark skin and equally dark hair cut to his shoulders. In his hands rested a pad of paper and a pen. When Mikaela approached, she saw that the man had very blue eyes. A bright, almost unearthly blue. 

"Anthony Crews, young miss, Nevada Highway Patrol." the man said, flashing his badge in her face and a brilliant smile that had probably brought many a woman to her knees.

"What do you want?" Mikaela asked flatly, ignoring her father's nudges to her ribs. She had developed a particular dislike for anyone who was part of law-enforcement.

"I just need t' ask a few questions." Officer Crews said. "Someone filed a missin' car report last night. The car was last seen on highway 447. It's my understanding that you were traveling along it this mornin'. I was wondering if you saw anything suspicious."

Mikaela eyed the officer for a moment and swore that he was familiar.

"No." she replied. "I didn't see anything that looked -- suspicious." She tilted her head slightly. "What sort of car is it?"

"How should I know?" Officer Crews asked back, a slight accent slipping through in his voice. "Thing was damaged is what I heard."

"Oh?" Mikaela raised an eyebrow. Who was this man? She couldn't get rid of the feeling that she had met him before from somewhere.

"All I know about th' missing car is that it's yellow." Officer Crews went on, the professional mask sliding right back into place.

"Yellow?" Uncle Jeremy spoke up.

"You know somethin', sir?" Officer Crews asked, looking curious.

"Yeah, actually I found this wreck off 447 last night." Uncle Jeremy said, gesturing to the back of the garage. "No one was hanging around, so I just brought it back. Figured that someone might be by asking about it."

"Oh... May I see it?" Officer Crews asked.

Mikaela suddenly wasn't sure of what to make of the look in his eyes.

"Yeah sure, it's back this way." Uncle Jeremy made another gesture. Officer Crews followed the two older men to the back of the garage. Mikaela followed, not because she was worried, but she wanted to see what the reaction was.

She watched Officer Crews's steps falter upon seeing the wreck of the Lamborghini. She watched him walk all around the car twice and stick his head into the cabin. When he pulled his head out, he looked troubled and he rested a hand on the roof, almost comfortingly. It was an odd gesture for someone who probably didn't own this car.

"Well?" Roland prompted.

Officer Crews looked over the car again.

"Bad condition." he said, sounding distracted. "I'll put th' call in. We should be able to get it off your hands by tomorrow morning."

"It may not even be salvageable." Roland put in. Mikaela saw the defensive posture her father had taken. "If you want, we can take it down to the scrap-yard ourselves and save the guy the towing fees--"

"No!" Officers Crews shouted suddenly, very angrily, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. Roland and Uncle Jeremy fell back a step in alarm.

"Sir?" Mikaela ventured tentatively.

Officer Crews took a deep breath and let it go.

"That's okay." he said tightly, like he was fighting to keep his voice steady. "I can have someone pick it up tomorrow morning. Just put new tires on it so we can tow it away."

"Are you sure?" Uncle Jeremy asked, looking faintly unnerved. "Because--"

"Jus' do it." Officer Crews said. He stepped away from the car. "Thank you for your help. I'll see you in the morning."

"You're welcome, Officer." Roland said and the officer started out of the garage. Roland leaned in close to his daughter and whispered: "Miki, make sure the man gets back to his car."

Mikaela nodded and dashed silently after the officer. She paused at the garage entrance and peered out carefully. The officer was making his way across the street to a--

_The highway patrol doesn't drive Solstices!_ Mikaela thought, staring as the man climbed into the silver Solstice parked on the opposite curb and then drove away. No... Something was wrong with that.

Something was very wrong with that.

* * *

"..._Whoa... Do you guys hear that?_" 

"_Are the comms going out again?_"

"_No, I think it's coming from Jazz's end. Jazz, are you okay?_"

"_Is your comm. functioning? Can you hear us?_"

"_...Yes..._"

"_Why were you not answering?_"

"'_Cause-- 'Cause-- -- THEY WANTED T' SCRAP HIM!!_"

The comms squealed with feedback.

"_OW!! Jazz! Watch the feedback!_"

"_Aah, kill my audials, why don't you..._"

"_Scrap who? Jazz, did you find our wayward Autobot?_"

"_Yeah... I did..._"

"_And?_"

"_And th' slaggers at th' garage wanted t' scrap him!_"

"_For Primus's sake Jazz, who is it?_"

"_I think it's Sunstreaker._"

There was total silence on all the frequencies.

"_Wait, do you mean Sunstreaker and Sideswipe_--"

"_No, jus' Sunstreaker._"

There was some more silence.

"_Primus save us all; __**just**__ Sunstreaker? That's even worse than having both of them around! My med-bay will be destroyed!_"

"_Ratchet... Jazz, keep an optic on the location. Are you sure it's Sunstreaker?_"

"_Not positive Optimus, but his alt-mode's a Lamborghini and ol' Sunny loves t' be flashy. And Ratchet?_"

"_Yes?_"

"_Ya better get th' med-bay ready. He ain't in good shape._"

"_Will do._"

"_Contact us if anything changes, Jazz._"

"_Gotcha. Jazz out._"

* * *

Reconnaissance. 

Jazz could do recon. Recon was calm and easy. All you had to do was stay still, pretend you belonged, take note of the important things and everything would just be peachy keen.

It was the only thing Ratchet would let him do anyways. The medic had barely been willing to let him out of the makeshift medbay or even out of sight for the first couple of days until he was convinced that the other mech wasn't going to keel over and die again.

_Overbearing slagger._ Jazz thought, but he knew that Ratchet always meant well. Even when a mech walked out of the medbay with more dents than he'd walked in with.

Jazz's return to life had been very-- sudden, to say the least. One moment, Megatron had been ripping him into two pieces and the next, he'd woken up in full-raging battle mode -- despite the battle itself being long over -- getting held down by Optimus and Ratchet and then seconds later, a very surprised Ironhide. After getting some sense knocked into him, Jazz had somewhat weakly joked about how he'd "pulled an Optimus", much to the Peterbilt's **un**amusement, but Primus knew that Optimus had developed a habit of just not staying dead. All to the undying vexation of the Decepticons.

After all, there weren't many mechs who could rightly say that they'd been to their own funerals.

Shaking off the memories, Jazz continued his stake-out of the Banes Auto-Body shop and the residence of the brothers Jeremy and Roland Banes, and their current visitor Mikaela Banes. He wondered if he should've been surprised that Mikaela had turned out to be here. It seemed that she was doomed to end up involved in the affairs of the Autobots, however unwittingly. Oh well, these things just happened.

Thanks to Jazz's somewhat unscheduled trip into the garage earlier, he knew exactly where the fellow Autobot was. He could lock onto the blurred and fuzzy energy signature in the back of the garage; he just couldn't tell **who** it was. He wanted to say it was Sunstreaker, but he wasn't sure at all. The Autobot was so badly damaged, he was in stasis-lock, and he was in pretty deep by the looks of it. Ratchet would be able to tell better. But regardless, Jazz had always gotten along well with the twins and no doubt the twin in question was going to be needing a friendly face.

With it being rather late and certain that all the humans had gone offline for the night, Jazz was about to move closer so he could reactivate his holoform and investigate the garage more thoroughly. Distance always affected how much his holoform could do. The further from his protoform that it got, the less corporeal it got. He had been pushing it back there around the thrashed Autobot.

As quietly as he could, Jazz eased out of the alley he'd been hiding in and motored down the block. He pulled into the parking lot in front of the body shop and cast his sensors upwards. The living area was perched atop the shop. The lights were off and his sensors were reading three deeply-recharging humans. Perfect. He activated his holoform, the same dark-skinned, dark-haired man -- who had been ungraciously dubbed "Anthony Crews" in what he hoped hadn't been a fit of inspiration, because seriously; that was uncool -- that had been in the garage earlier.

Jazz stepped silently out of the Solstice and carefully shut the door. He knew he shouldn't linger. Oh, he knew his protoform would be okay while he investigated, but he really didn't want anyone stealing it while he was distracted. Or someone waking up and noticing it sitting out there. Silver was snazzy and all, but it showed all the scratches and stood out just a little too much for his tastes. And part of reconnaissance was preventing the ones you were spying on from even noticing that you were there at all.

Sneaking up to the back door, Jazz tested the handle. He expected it to be locked -- this did strike him as a somewhat unsavory part of town -- but to his delight, it wasn't. Then again, there probably wasn't a lot to steal in an auto-body garage. The door creaked horribly when it opened and Jazz stopped it, wincing. He listened closely for a moment, for any sound of movement. He was sensor-blind in this form. He had to rely on the normal human senses.

But there was no sound from overhead, so Jazz eased through the doorway, thankful that his holoform was so skinny. Only he and Bumblebee so far had mastered theirs. The other three were still working on it. From what Jazz could tell, Ironhide's holoform was built like a bull and Bee's holoform looked absolutely tiny in comparison.

Safely inside the garage, Jazz tiptoed over to the Lamborghini and knelt down in front of it. New tires had been fitted, he noticed. Ah, good. They had taken him seriously. He found the catch to release the hood and eased it open to check the damages underneath; hearing a very slight moan as it did.

"Go back to sleep." Jazz whispered, not sure if the Autobot could understand English. Safety protocols kept him from rattling off anything in Cybertronian while the holoform was dominate. Nonetheless, he added a comforting pat and hoped that the Autobot understood that he was in friendly company.

And then he heard a creak.

Jazz swore softly and pushed the hood closed gently. He snuck around to other side so he was between the car and the wall and peered through the windows towards the office on the far side of the garage. Nothing happened and he was about to move, but he froze when the door banged open and out stepped Mikaela. She was dressed in a loose pair of white sleeper shorts, a pale pink tank top and wearing a pair of flip-flops. And she had a baseball bat in her hands. An aluminum baseball bat.

_Oooh... Slag._

Bat held ready to be swung, Mikaela crept quietly through the garage, searching for the intruder. Jazz hunkered down a little more. He absolutely hated the limitations that came with the holoforms. He could only activate and deactivate it when he was in contact with his protoform. Also, he was fully corporeal, meaning that he could be whacked about the head and the damages would also show up on his protoform. Bee had warned them of all the advantages and disadvantages that he had discovered so far through trial-and-error.

"All right! I know you're in here somewhere!" Mikaela said out loud. She edged over to the wall and hit the lights. Jazz nearly scrambled under the Lamborghini, but the noise would attract her attention, so he stayed put.

"You can't hide forever. Come on out and I won't give you a concussion." Mikaela warned, her eyes darting around.

Jazz cringed and chewed on his fingernails and wondered for a moment why his holoform even had fingernails. Maybe he should just show himself. She might go easy on him. But then there was the messy business of convincing her of who he **really** was. As far as Mikaela Banes knew, Jazz was still a dead-bot.

The decision was made for him when Mikaela started to advance in his direction.

"All right!" He jumped into sight, startling the teenage girl something fierce. "It's jus' me. Ya c'n put th' bat down now."

"Officer Crews!" Mikaela didn't lower the bat. If anything, she raised it higher, her face a mask of intense dislike. "What are you doing here?!"

"Easy, easy now. Please put th' bat down." Jazz requested, putting his hands up. "I'm not here t' steal anything--"

"Then why are you hiding behind the Lamborghini?" Mikaela asked. She really looked like she was going to whack him one. "Y'know, I didn't believe you when you said you were part of the highway patrol. No one in the highway patrol drives a Pontiac Solstice!"

_She noticed?_ Jazz winced inwardly. Damn, he was normally better at this. His dead-stint must've thrown his game off more than he'd thought.

"It's my off-duty car." he said with a certain amount of nonchalance.

"Maybe..." Mikaela muttered. "But what are you doing here at one in the morning?"

"Well, I did say I was comin' back in th' morning." Jazz said with an easy smile.

"Not at one in the morning." Mikaela retorted, smirking slightly. "Now what are you doing in my uncle's garage? And if you think you can steal that Lambo, well you've got another thing coming buddy!"

Jazz's smile faltered. Stupid Megatron, making him die like that. That set-back had really thrown off his game. Hell, he should've had her charmed ten ways from Sunday by now!

Okay, so he wasn't going to be able to charm his way out of this. Time for the truth.

"Mikaela..."

She twitched.

"C'mon, please put th' bat down, Mikaela." Jazz requested.

"How do you know my name?" Mikaela asked, taking a very slight step back, suspicion lacing her words.

"'Cause it's me. It's Jazz."

Mikaela advanced on him, pulling the bat back for a swing.

"No -- Waitwaitwaitwait!!" Jazz skittered out of whacking range on the other side of the car.

"I don't know where you got that name, but that won't work!" Mikaela snapped, continuing to advance. "Jazz is dead!"

"No I'm not!" Jazz countered, still on the move. "I'm not! I'm really not! And I don' want Ratchet hammerin' out any dents ya put in my head so put th' slaggin' bat down already!"

That made Mikaela pause.

"How--" She started, obviously confused.

"That slagger Megatron tore me in half an' Optimus had this great idea t' bring me back using th' remaining fragment of th' AllSpark." Jazz explained. "Best idea he's ever had, if ya want my opinion. I wasn't ready for th' afterlife."

At least she wasn't advancing on him now. Jazz could almost see Mikaela turning the words over in her head.

"If you're really Jazz," she started, looking extremely suspicious and-- Hello, was that a little bit of hope there? "What were the first words you said to me and Sam when we first met?"

Jazz grinned, the words coming back, smooth as butter. "'What's crackin' little bitches'."

Her jaw hanging in disbelief -- at least Jazz hoped it was disbelief and not 'I'm so gonna kill ya' -- Mikaela dropped the bat and jumped on him. It took Jazz a second or two to realize that he was getting hugged -- not attacked -- and he returned the gesture.

"Jazz-- I thought you were-- How--?" Mikaela fell back, staring him up and down, more or less at a loss for words.

"Like it?" Jazz struck a pose. "Holoform. Easier t' blend in."

"...That was you. Earlier today." Mikaela said, still pointing at him and looking very surprised.

"Yep."

"But... You were dead! You were in two pieces the last time I saw you!"

"So I was." Jazz agreed, grinning some more. "But..." He took her by the shoulders and steered the teenager over to the garage windows so she could see his protoform sitting sedately in alt-mode. "Do I look like I'm in two pieces?"

Mikaela stared at the silver Solstice for a moment, trying to absorb what she was seeing. Jazz wasn't dead. It was taking entirely too long to sink in. Jazz. Was. Not. Dead. Not anymore.

She turned around to face him.

"So how long have you been back?" she asked conversationally.

"'Bout a week." Jazz shrugged. "But ya can't tell anyone! I'm supp'sed t' be a well-kept secret. Trump card, if ya will."

"Okay..." Mikaela nodded, running her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair. "Okay, I'm really sorry about going after you with the bat like that.' she added earnestly. "I didn't know it was you."

"I didn't expect ya t'." Jazz admitted, heading back to the back of the garage. "I was doin' recon."

"I take it you know about the Lambo." Mikaela stated seriously, hurrying after him and yet unable to keep the pleased grin off her face.

"Either Sunstreaker or Sideswipe. Not sure. Energy signal's all fuzzy." Jazz paused over the Lamborghini and peered closely at it as though that would help him identify it. He wiped some of the dried muck off the hood, revealing the bright yellow paintjob. He had suspicion that the mech might've been Sunstreaker; he preferred the color yellow while Sideswipe favored red.

Jazz gave the mech a gentle nudge. That is, he banged his fist in the hood two or three times.

"Hey. Wake up. No time t' sleep."

He got a muddled groan in response but nothing more coherent. Jazz nudged the mech again.

"_...H'nds 'ff th' pain'..._" the Autobot murmured scratchily in Cybertronian. Jazz grinned. Being in holoform didn't prevent him from understanding Cybertronian. And now he knew exactly who the newcomer was.

"Welcome t' Earth, Sunstreaker." he said happily.

"_...Wh're...? Ye--_" Sunstreaker lapsed into silence. He knew someone was there and even though he couldn't understood what was being said to him; he recognized the voice and felt nothing but relief. He had taken quite a beating. Still, he seemed determined to return to the land of consciousness, despite the damages and he struggled vainly to move.

"Take it easy there, Sunny." Jazz laid a hand on the hood of the Lamborghini, hoping the Autobot would catch the tone. "You're banged up pretty bad."

For her part, Mikaela stood back in case the Lamborghini tried to do something stupid.

Jazz turned to her.

"That tow truck outside workin'?" he asked her. "We need to get him t' Ratchet."

"Let me get the keys." Mikaela started back the house, but she barely managed to take one step before several sonic booms split the air outside the thin walls of the auto-garage. She slapped her hands over her ears, looking back at Jazz with an expression twisted in discomfort and confusion.

"No time for that!" Jazz corrected, bounding for the garage door and slinging it open. "Get Sunny down on th' ground!"

He scampered to his protoform, laid a hand on the hood and deactivated the holoform. The Solstice came back to life and roared into the garage. Mikaela was already lowering the platform so the Lamborghini touched the concrete floor. Jazz locked on to Sunstreaker's front fender with his magna-lock and opened his driver's side door. "Get in!"

Mikaela jumped in and the door slammed shut.

"Mind telling me what's the rush?" she asked breathlessly.

"Jus' your friendly neighborhood Decepticons!" Jazz replied with a panicked sort of enthusiasm.

Tires screeched painfully loud on concrete, the Pontiac Solstice tore off out of the garage, dragging a battered Lamborghini Countach along behind it.

"Seatbelt." Jazz instructed. Rolling her eyes, Mikaela tugged the seatbelt down around her body, craning her neck to look out the windows up at the sky. In the meantime, Jazz set up calling up the others.

"_Jazz t' Prime_."

Static was his answer.

"_Jazz. Calling. Optimus Prime. Come in Optimus Prime. Wake up now._"

More static. Optimus was still blissfully recharging.

And to make things worse, Starscream and his flunkies were wheeling around to make an attack.

"_This is Jazz, calling fearless leader! I got Decepticons on my aft!_"

And yet, still nothing.

"_Ironhide! Ratchet! Bumblebee! For Primus's sake, anyone!_"

But no one answered.

"Er... Mikaela?"

Mikaela pulled her gaze from the side-view mirror.

"What?"

"I don' mean t' worry ya, but I think we're on our own here."

Mikaela was certain her stomach melted at those words.


	4. Chpt3: A Measure of Hope

**A/N:** People... I'll be blunt. Sideswipe ain't coming. Not yet. He's scheduled for a much later appearance further down the line.

Ah... Speaking of the Twins, I had to take some liberties with their history, since I never found a really good reference. I just took bits and pieces of what was mentioned and welded it all together into something that I think is believable enough. It is subject to change some in later stories, but for now, this is what I've got. I hope it's acceptable.

**Disclaimer:**_Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Three: A Measure of Hope

* * *

Jazz had been in some tough scrapes before. Some of them turned out to be not as bad as he feared at the outset, and quite survivable. Some times he got his aft handed to him, but it was still in one piece, so Ratchet could always reattach said aft. No harm, no foul, as the humans said. Then there were the scrapes that practically screamed that he'd be lucky just to still be functioning by the end of the day. 

Unfortunately, this was shaping up to be the latter.

He was up against three Decepticon Seekers, all of whom were among the elite, and at the same time, he had to watch his aft, Mikaela's aft and Sunstreaker's aft as well. And back-up was well over an hour's drive away. They would never make it in time. Perhaps being unable to contact them was just as well.

And with Sunstreaker out of commission as he was...

Ooooh, he was so slagged.

"Mikaela!"

The teenager looked around.

"What?" she asked.

"Look, I can't fight these guys by myself. We need t' find somewhere t' hole up for a bit." Jazz said. "Offhand, know any place like that?"

"No, I've never been to Reno before!" Mikaela replied, sounding somewhat hysterical. She glanced out the window again. "They wouldn't attack us if we were surrounded by people, right?""

"'Cons don' hold a lot in store for other lives; hate t' say it." Jazz said somberly. "We're headed deeper int' th' city."

"What?! But they'll blast everything in sight!"

"An' we'll have cover!"

A few bolts of energy blistered the pavement right in front of them and it was only thanks to some expert swerving on Jazz's part that they were able to dodge. Mikaela swore she heard laughter from far overhead and she sank lower in the seat as they headed further into Reno, clutching the seatbelt tightly.

Even for one in the morning, the city was still jumping. Jazz made a point of barreling right down the main drags, which were often clogged with cars. He presented a harder target this way and he knew the Seekers wouldn't be able to get a good bead on him, or Sunstreaker for that matter.

A few more twists and turns were taken before the three Seekers disappeared from Jazz's scanners. Knowing that this window would probably slam closed in another minute, he cast his sensors wide, searching for any entrance wide enough that led underground.

"Right there!" Mikaela pointed to the very thing he was looking for. "Hide there!"

"I see it!" Jazz hissed and made a bee-line for it.

It was the backside of a parking garage, right on the edge of the other unsavory part of town. But it didn't matter. He skidded down the ramp, ignoring the fact that it was evidently closed for the night, breaking off the crossing guard arm. He hit the brakes, skidded another few feet and came to a halt. Immediately, he began to power down his systems.

"_Sunstreaker! Sunstreaker! Power down everythin'!_"

"_...J'zz...? Wha's goin' on?..._"

"_Seekers. Power down your systems! Go into recharge if ya have t'!_"

"_J'zz, it hurts... e'erythin' hurts..._"

At the yellow mech's plaintive tone, Jazz softened a little.

"_I know, Sunny, I know. Butcha gotta power down or th' Seekers'll find us._"

There was no response from the battered mech. Hoping that Sunstreaker had taken his advice, Jazz settled into a state of near-recharge; every system running at the lowest minimum operating levels. With their energy signatures down, he hoped that the Seekers would have an even harder time finding them. And with the amount of humans running around on the surface still, they should have a hard time locking onto Mikaela as well.

The hardest part was waiting. Jazz couldn't send out any transmissions lest the Decepticons intercept them. Hell, he couldn't activate his sensors to see if they were still in the area. He couldn't even flip anything over to his holoform because that usually caused a small power surge that could be noticeable to the Decepticon sensors.

His chronometer read 0302 before Jazz wondered if it would be safe to move. They had been sitting here for almost two hours. Mikaela had fallen back into recharge; the late hour and fading adrenaline rush taking their toll. Jazz took a quick scan on the Lamborghini behind him. Stasis-lock had taken over Sunstreaker again. Probably a good thing. Otherwise, he might try something stupid. Like transform and try to take on the Seekers himself.

One by one, Jazz brought his systems back up to the normal operating levels, though slowly. His sensors didn't register any Decepticon signatures in the immediate area. He widened the radius--

"_Jazz!_"

The silver mech nearly transformed right there but had enough sense to recognize Bumblebee's panicked voice filtering through on his comm.

"_Slaggit Bee! Don' scare me like that!_" Jazz yelped, practically forcing his fuel pump to slow the Pit down. "_An' cut that out! Last I checked, I had Decepticons on my aft!_"

"_Don't worry. They're gone._" Bee assured him.

"_Are ya sure? How long have ya been here anyways?_"

"_Um... 'Bout two hours... Since I heard your transmission._'

"_Two hours-- Jus' how fast were ya goin' on those roads?!_"

"_You really don't wanna know._"

Jazz turned off his comm before breaking into laughter. Ahh, he had taught the little bot well.

"_All right, keep your optics peeled for any Decepticons._" Jazz instructed, rocking back and forth a little to stir Mikaela out of her recharge. "_I'm comin' out and I don' wanna get jumped. Not wit' Sunstreaker as he is._"

"_You mean it __**is**__ Sunstreaker?_"

"_Yeah. Do me a favor. Put a line through t' Doc Hatchet._"

"_Way ahead of you._"

In his driver's seat, Mikaela shook her head a little and wiped the grit from her eyes.

"Are they gone?..." she asked around a yawn.

"For now." Jazz replied in a low voice, wheeling around slowly for the exit. "I'll drop ya off back wit' your uncle and then I gotta head back t' base."

Mikaela nodded sleepily, looking distinctly not-all-there and she settled back against the soft leather, closing her eyes. Jazz crept out of the underground parking garage, listening to Bumblebee's soft narrative, keeping him informed of the going-ons outside and further in background, he could hear Ratchet grumbling inaudibly. Probably on what the heck he was going to do to Sunstreaker when they got back. Well, Ratchet had to take it easy on Sunstreaker this time. No throwing of wrenches.

Bee remained Jazz's "eyes in the sky", so to speak, on the way back to Mikaela's uncle's place, though Jazz didn't see the little scout anywhere. It made him wonder if there were still Decepticons in the area. If the scout was hiding...

Jazz carefully made his way back to the garage and pulled up to the side.

"Sleepin' in m'uncle's room..." Mikaela murmured. "Window on th' corner..."

Jazz released the magna-lock and initiated a very, very careful transformation sequence that ended with a dozing Mikaela curled in the palm of his hand. Finding the indicated window was open, he shuffled over to it and very carefully slid Mikaela inside. She would probably wonder what she was doing on the floor when she woke up, so he swiped the blanket off the bed and spread it over her sleeping form.

He had just returned to alt-mode and was back to dragging Sunstreaker behind him when a Decepticon signal showed up on his scanners.

"_Jazz! The Seekers are back! Get out of the city!_" Bee nearly screamed over the comm.

Jazz stepped on it, leaving smoke and screeching tires behind him.

Strangely, he was only picking up one signal and the frequent hopping around told him that it was Skywarp. Either Starscream and Thundercracker were hanging back or they had found Bee or--

The pavement exploded, sending the two Autobots flying.

Or Skywarp was merely providing a distraction while his two comrades snuck up from the side.

Jazz pulled off a very nice mid-air transformation and twisted about to catch Sunstreaker before the mech could get any more knocked around. Naturally, when a one-ton car comes flying at you, you're bound to get knocked off your feet. In Jazz's case, he just didn't land right. Righting himself, he pushed the scratched and scarred Lamborghini into the nearest convenient alley and got the heck out of the city and into the relatively open space outside the outskirts. Which was good, because the Seekers decided to get a little more hands-on with the attacks. They landed in front of the Autobot and transformed into the recognizable forms of Starscream, Skywarp and Thundercracker, in all their weapon-bristling glory.

"Well, well. Today must be my lucky day." Starscream said with the usual sneer in his voice.

"T' die." Jazz retorted, aware that he were painfully outnumbered when it came down to sheer firepower. The Decepticons had been designed for war. The Autobots had not.

Where the Pit was Bee?

"Oh please. I'm up against a..." Starscream trailed off and blinked in confusion. "Didn't you die?"

Jazz didn't answer but grinned sheepishly. Starscream looked back to his two cohorts, both of whom gave him looks that basically said: "What, d'you think we would know? You're the one who was here first ya idiot".

"That's for me t' know and ya'll t' find out." Jazz eventually said, very cheekily. Starscream scowled and raised his null rays. At that moment, there was a sharp screech of rubber and a roar of an engine and then a yellow streak bowled an unsuspecting Skywarp to the ground. Rolling to his feet, Bumblebee's right forearm transformed into the solar cannon.

"And the mute minibot joins us!" Starscream laughed.

Bumblebee scowled at the "mute minibot" comment. He could communicate perfectly fine and get his point across, thank you very much. And he showed Starscream just how much he was displeased by that comment by firing his cannon at the Seeker's face.

"Nice shot Bee!" Jazz dragged the younger mech away while Starscream reeled back. "Now run!"

Starscream shook off Skywarp and Thundercracker who had jumped forward to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Get them!" he shouted. "I don't want to see your faces until you've turned those two into scrap metal!"

Skywarp and Thundercracker obediently took off in pursuit of the retreating Autobots. Starscream wiped the soot off his faceplates. That cannon hadn't done a lot of damaged; nothing that wouldn't fix itself overnight. That just proved how weak the Autobots were. He looked down the road; down to where the third Autobot was hiding.

It wouldn't stay hidden for very long.

* * *

"Jazz...! Are we slagged?!" 

"Yeah, I think we're slagged lil' buddy!"

Those weren't very reassuring words coming from the older mech. Although, Bumblebee was aware that they didn't have a lot of cover to avoid the attacks from the two Seekers and the terrain wasn't ideal for their alt-modes. It made Bee wish even more for Skyfire or Powerglide or the any of the Aerialbots. Jazz and Bee by themselves simply couldn't compete against the two fliers.

--Up in the air--

"_Y'know what TC?_" Skywarp started in a cheerful voice.

"_What?_" Thundercracker asked in a long-suffering tone.

"_I like playing tag._" Skywarp replied happily.

Then he got some altitude behind him and opened fire.

Thundercracker wondered if he could convince one of the Autobots to ram him into the ground and be done with it. His wings burned abominably and had been ever since he'd arrived on this muddy little rock. He had a bad feeling that his entry into the planet's atmosphere had been slightly less than perfect.

Needless to say, it was irritating him to no end.

And just irritating enough that he _really_ didn't want to fly for any length of time, no matter the reason, until he got it taken care of.

Unfortunately, he wasn't likely to convince Starscream that there was a problem.

And the only way he could actually convince his exalted leader to let him sit down for repairs was if he got his head smashed in.

Unfortunately, that wasn't looking likely.

The Autobots were booking it out of there.

Oh well; best make the most of it.

* * *

An outside, unbiased observer would probably have a hard time trying to figure out just how a two-ton robot could sneak around so quietly. Somehow, Starscream managed it quite well and he attributed it to vorns spent sneaking around behind Megatron's back. He'd learned how to step lifelessly and quietly, as to not attract the attention of Soundwave, who always seemed to be aware of the presence of every Decepticon, no matter where they were. 

Starscream employed this special well-developed talent now as he crept softly through Reno's side-streets. The stupid little Autobot -- it was the same from a day or two ago -- was still rather badly damaged and its systems were running on so little energy that Starscream could barely pick it up on any of his sensors. He did find it, though, cowering away in some narrow alley like a pathetic human--

No, wait... It was in stasis-lock.

That made things disgustingly easier.

A sadistic grin twisted Starscream's faceplates and he happily raised his null rays.

In that brief second before he fired, there was a click of gears and the next thing Starscream knew, he was staring at the blue optics of the transformed Autobot. The Autobot launched itself at the Seeker and they tumbled head over heels into the street. Starscream kicked the mech off him and bounded to his feet.

Under different circumstances, Starscream supposed he would've been firing away with abandon, but even he flinched in sympathy when he saw the very sorry state the Autobot was in. The mech was scraped and battered and dented and small panels of metal were missing in a few places. Trickles of a bluish-white liquid slowly slipped down the white and yellow paint. Joints that probably shouldn't have been creaking were doing so loudly and the Autobot was struggling to climb to it feet, a rifle held loosely in one hand.

"How do you still function?" Starscream wondered, honestly curious. "By all rights, you should've died back on the mountains."

"Too stubborn to die..." the Autobot said in a grating voice, creaking and straining to stand upright. Starscream flinched when he heard the abused gears squeal in protest. Even if it was one of those psycho, Jet-Judo-ing Autobot twins, he couldn't help but feel a tiny bit guilty of the fact that he had caused this--

Hold on.

He shouldn't even be feeling one iota of guilt.

Growling, Starscream lunged forward and seized the mech by the throat, shoving him into the ground and cracking the pavement. The Seeker bent over the Autobot, planting one foot on its chassis. No shame! This one deserved to die!

"Tell me something." Starscream started while the Autobot clutched uselessly at his hands. "I know that Rumble and Frenzy can often tell when either one of them is in danger, but does it work the same between Autobot twins?"

Either the Autobot refused to answer or he just couldn't.

"Let's find out."

Starscream aimed a gun right at the spark in the Autobot's chassis. Seeing where the aim was, the Autobot struggled to free himself, but he didn't have the energy. Starscream was grinning gleefully, as there was no Megatron to rescind his own decisions. It was all about Starscream now. It was his stage, his show. He was the leader of the Decepticons now and forever.

And he was going to do what Megatron had never seemed to manage.

He was going to destroy the Autobots once and for all.

In retrospect, Starscream knew he shouldn't have hesitated, but he did when a roar filled his audials. In that split-second of hesitation, he was unceremoniously bowled over by his two wing-mates and then in another split-second of clarity, he wondered just when they had lost the upper hand. Then he was in a lot of pain as the heavy forms of Thundercracker and Skywarp crushed him into a building.

"Whoo, nice one!" Jazz whooped appreciatively, clapping Bee over the shoulder. "Hope no one was in there..."

"Sunstreaker!" Bee jumped forward, seeing the other yellow mech laying flat on the cracked pavement. Jazz followed, grimacing as he finally saw the full state of the yellow twin. One thing was for certain.

Ratchet definitely couldn't smack Sunstreaker around for being stupid.

Without having to say anything, they reached down and pulled Sunstreaker up while the three Seekers struggled to extract themselves from their tangle.

"_Jazz t' Prime._"

"_Prime here._"

"'_Bout damn time! Where were ya when I called for help two slaggin' hours ago?!_"

"_Uh_..."

"_Don' answer that! Listen, I nearly got scrapped by th' Seekers!_"

"_I wish I could've been there._" Ironhide commented, sounding mournful. "_I haven't shot at anything in_weeks"

"_And Bee here was th'_only_ one who actually had th' gears t' haul his shiny metal aft down here t' help!_" Jazz shot back, slightly annoyed at his commander for recharging so soundly he hadn't even caught the call for assistance. The silver mech huffed out a sigh through his vents. "_Never mind... I think th' Seekers are gonna retreat anyways._" he added, ignoring the groan from Ironhide.

Jazz glanced over his shoulder where Starscream had succeeded in shoving Thundercracker off and was attempting to do the same to Skywarp. The Air Commander didn't appear to be in a very good mood anymore, but at least he just didn't look like he was going to attack again.

"_An' we need a pick-up._"

* * *

The medbay seemed very empty. It may have not been as large as Ratchet would've liked, but at this point, he would happily take what he could get. He may have not had all the right equipment, but if he could bring Jazz back to life, then he could put Sunstreaker back together no problem. 

Time and again had proved that Sunstreaker was one of the worst patients Ratchet had had the repeated honor of treating and a severe pain in both the cranium and the aft. He was certain that there was an amount of distrust regarding medics lodged in that mech's cranium somewhere. But right now, Sunstreaker wasn't going to be much of a handful. Not in this state anyways. Mourning the lack of proper equipment, Ratchet began a diagnostics scan so he could properly see the problems.

Over the long, long years, Ratchet had gotten used to fixing the Twins with both of them in the room. Even if it was just patching up routine wear-and-tear on one twin, the other twin would always be found hovering just inside the doorway. Unless he really needed the peace and quiet to work, Ratchet almost never shooed the uninjured/less-injured twin away.

But now, here he was putting Sunstreaker back together without Sideswipe sitting worriedly in the corner or hovering outside the door or lying unconscious on a berth himself. It almost seemed-- unnatural.

Granted, the others had taken up the position of worrying with great gusto. If Ratchet listened close enough, he could hear Jazz pacing back and forth, Ironhide polishing his cannons for wont of a better thing to do and Optimus tapping his fingers impatiently on the wall. Jazz's heavy pacing was soon joined by Bumblebee's lighter steps. An indiscernible mutter and a thunk of fist meeting metal followed by some half-sparked chuckles meant that the younger mech had quickly taken to irritating the older to draw a laugh out of the others. Good for Bee. He had always been good at lightening the mood and keeping the others' spirits up. Shaking his head and allowing himself a brief chuckle, Ratchet continued with his work.

The damage could be called superficial, for the most part. Sensors and communications and the dings and scratches in the armor were easy enough to repair, meaning Ratchet could leave them for last. But Sunstreaker's right leg was a mangled mess of crushed metal and tangled wire that his self-regenerative system was struggling to repair on its own and not having much luck. The yellow twin's energy levels were drained, but not to the point where Ratchet would have to hook Sunstreaker up directly to a couple of power lines, fortunately. But the low levels were affecting the performance of the rest of his systems. Many of them were plodding along below the minimum requirements, rendering him in him in stasis-lock. Sunstreaker had not had a good recharge nor any energon for days, more likely weeks. One had to wonder what had kept this idiot going all this time. It was a damn good thing that the silo was still being supplied with electricity. Courtesy of the U.S. government, no doubt.

The medic had the feeling the Seekers had kicked him around a few times before he'd been able to flee through Earth's atmosphere. During the fight earlier, his CPU had gone and shut down most higher functions, basically meaning Sunstreaker had been running on subconscious programming; instincts, if you will. He'd been able to identify faction symbols and thereby separate friend from foe, but the shut-down hadn't been very neat. Ratchet would need to keep him offline for several days upon completing repairs to ensure no lasting damage to Sunstreaker's processor.

But what worried Ratchet was, if this was Sunstreaker's condition, then how was Sideswipe faring?

The Twins were never ones to willingly divulge information. They had always been very cagey on their past. As far as Ratchet knew, he, Optimus, and perhaps Prowl were the only Autobots who knew the full story. When the Twins had first turned up in his medbay after a vicious attack on the mines where they had been put to work, Ratchet had discovered old and shoddily repaired injuries that certainly didn't look like they had come from mining accidents. He had demanded the full details from a half-conscious but highly reluctant Sideswipe if they wanted those old injuries properly repaired with no lasting damage.

And then the whole story had come out.

Twins were rare enough on Cybertron, but slavery?

Slavery had been abolished after the Second Great War and when Optimus and Megatron had taken over joint ruler-ship of Cybertron, strict punishments had fallen into place. Both Ratchet and Optimus had been horrified to learn that the Twins had been sold into an underground slave rink at a young age by their creators and then soon bought to become fighters in the gladiator games; which had also gone underground after being outlawed. They had been free for a short while to fend for themselves after the arena had been found and the operation busted open.

Then they had been recaptured and sold again, this time to another gladiator rink on the other side of Cybertron. After getting into some serious trouble (a particular match had been rigged so they would lose, but Sunstreaker had wanted none of that), the arena owners, fearing for the safety of their business, had sold the Twins to the very mining operation that the Autobots had rescued them from.

Ratchet had never once imagined that a creator could become so desperate as to sell off the sparkling they had thought long and hard about having; because the choice to have a sparkling wasn't a frivolous decision. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's creators -- no doubt bond-mates who'd been looking to make their life together more interesting -- had, most likely, not anticipated that the spark would split down the middle and become two separate sparks. One sparkling was a handful to take care of. Two -- and twins at that -- must've been something out of a nightmare for the unsuspecting bond-pair.

But to actually give up their own creations to slavery for the sake of their sanity?

Ratchet would quite gladly give up his sanity first.

The hours drew late into the day before the tired medic could pronounce Sunstreaker in stable condition. He exited the medbay, exhausted but pleased with the results. He smiled when he saw the sight in the hallway outside. At some point, Jazz had dozed off at Ironhide's side, who was still awake and he looked none too thrilled to be a pillow for the saboteur. Bumblebee's absence indicated that he had returned to the Witwicky residence for the day. Optimus had taken over the task of pacing back and forth. Ratchet's scanners picked up on the fact that the floor where the pacing had occurred had sunk in roughly one centimeter.

"Well?" Optimus asked impatiently, his deep voice unintentionally rousing Jazz long enough for the silver mech to shift and cling tighter to Ironhide's arm. The Weapons Specialist's left optic twitched, but he did nothing.

"Give him a few days in recharge and he'll be as good as new." Ratchet said.

That was a load of weight off the commander's shoulders.

It also meant that he wouldn't have to hunt down Sideswipe and tell him something bad had happened to his twin.

But the sooner they could figure out what had happened to Sideswipe, the less chance there was that they would have to tell Sunstreaker that something bad might have happened to his twin.

* * *

The leering red optics glared much brighter and he was afraid. Not just for himself, but for his twin... He had to try and stay alive for his twin. 

It was really the least he could do.

The voice asked why he still functioned.

He couldn't remember if the voice had a name.

There was so much pain. The voice seized him and there was even more pain.

And then he was pinned.

Cold metal against his chassis... A not-so-subtle threat...

And the voice threatening to destroy his spark. Because it wanted to know... whether or not--

_Starscream!_

His body was moving before his mind could catch up and then he was pinned again. There was a voice too, but it wasn't the same voice that had threatened to destroy his spark. He listened to it. Perhaps it could get him away.

"--reaker! You're not fighting anymore! Now settle down before you do even more damage to yourself! Sunstreaker!"

_Sunstreaker? Who is--_ Oh, right. Him. That was his name. Yes, yes, it was coming back to him now. His name was Sunstreaker, it was Starscream who had attacked him and--

"Sides!" Sunstreaker sat up in a rush, only to get shoved right back down by a force that was much stronger than him. He found himself staring almost dazedly at the familiar faces of Ratchet and Ironhide.

Oh for the love of Primus... Of all the mechs to get stuck with...

"I won't ask how," Ratchet started slowly. "But I should certainly not be seeing your optics for another three days at least."

Sunstreaker had nothing witty or scathing to say like he normally did under the care of the cranky CMO.

"I think you scared him speechless, Ratch." Ironhide commented thoughtfully.

"Unless his processor is messed up." Ratchet said. "Few solid whacks oughta put it straight."

Sunstreaker saw him pick up a long and very heavy-looking metal pole.

"Keep that thing away from me!" the yellow mech finally burst out, tugging futilely at the restraints on his arms. He wanted to be out of smacking range and badly. Then he realized he'd been tricked when Ratchet put the pole back down and Ironhide was-- Ironhide was _giggling_?

"You slagging bastard, Ratchet." Sunstreaker growled, trying to ignore Ironhide's giggling, which was becoming very pronounced.

"There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with your processor if you're already insulting me." Ratchet said, running another set of scans on the battered yellow mech.

"And shut the frag up 'Hide!"

"No back-talking your superiors, Sunshine." Ironhide said, casually raising a hand that just as casually became a cannon that hummed in a menacing fashion. "Fortunately for you, the good doctor here won't let me use you as target practice for a good long while."

"Not until he won't fall apart just trying to walk." Ratchet said, now fiddling with some exposed wires on Sunstreaker's right leg, causing it to twitch errantly. "Then you can take all the pot-shots at Sunshine that you want. But you'll be fixing him up if you cause any damage."

He noted the errant twitches and nodded in satisfaction. The reaction meant that the nerve-wires hadn't been completely severed.

"Stop calling me 'Sunshine'!" Sunstreaker snapped. No one got away with calling him "Sunshine". Ever. Some just got off much easier than others.

"And Bumblebee told me to tell you that you owe him and Jazz for protecting your sorry aft." Ratchet informed him.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, frowning. He didn't owe anyone anything, even if he did like them.

"Talk to them about it later." Ironhide said. He slapped Sunstreaker's shoulder with only half his usual force and left the medbay.

"Where's Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker asked, unable to keep it in anymore.

"Actually, I was hoping you knew that." Ratchet replied.

"You don't know?!"

If it hadn't been for the restraints on his arms, Sunstreaker just might have had the medic pinned to the wall. He had never spent a lot of time away from his twin, but they had been separated for far too long now. Ever since the exodus from Cybertron, when Starscream had taken over command of the Decepticon army in Megatron's absence and swept across the planet like a plague. They had gotten separated in the shuffle somehow. Sunstreaker hadn't seen Sideswipe since, no matter how hard he'd looked. He'd been hoping to find him on this new planet, but clearly, no such luck was going to be had. The consolation he had now was that since Prime was here, there was every possibility that Sideswipe would find his way here eventually.

"I'm sorry, but no." Ratchet said firmly, finally unearthing his welding arc from a small pile of clutter. "As far as any of us are aware, you're the only Autobot to have made planet-fall. Actually, you're the only one who's been in the system at any point over the last three weeks."

Sunstreaker looked down and tugged at the restraints again.

"Can you let me go now?" he asked. "It's not like I'm going to attack you now. Battle computer's off."

Ratchet only undid the restraints on one arm, but Sunstreaker didn't notice until he tried to stand.

"What the slag-- Hey!"

"I did reserve the right to tie you down and now I'm going to abuse it."

"You Pit-fragging slagger. I hope you choke on something sharp and pointy and die a horrible painful death."

"I'll remember you said that the next time you show up in here for repairs. Now hold still."

"Oh for the love of Primus! Keep that slagging thing away from me!"

"I said hold still, you whiny sparkling! This isn't going to hurt!"

"You always say that! I know what that thing does! Ironhide! Ironhide, help me!"

Two hallways away, Ironhide was laughing his aft off and his chassis was starting to ache. Not far from him, Optimus was shaking his head, torn between amusement and exasperation. Just around the corner, Jazz was placing bets with Bee over the comm on how long it was going to be before Sunstreaker ran from the medbay, whether the repairs completed or not.

* * *

That night, Optimus stood up on the highest point he could find, silhouetted against the backdrop of a red and gold sunset, and sent out his transmission again. It made for a striking scene; simply in the way he stood; head and shoulders tilted back, staring straight into the navy sky, every inch of his frame radiating hope and longing and -- strangely -- sadness; praying for a response from someone, anyone. He was beyond caring about who it was. So long as someone responded... 

The seeds of hope Optimus had been nurturing since Megatron's destruction had sprouted a little with Sunstreaker's lonesome arrival and the overall morale -- which had been a little low as of late -- had risen again.

The transmissions the humans sent circling around their globe ticked the barest edge of his sensors; sensors that strained on every wavelength imaginable for..._anything_. The universe wasn't as dead and silent as it appeared, provided one knew how to listen. The stars sang softly of eons burning in the cold void; black holes howled greedily; quasars thrummed and comets hissed and planets rumbled along orbital paths around their mother sun.

Buried deep within the symphony of the cosmos, Optimus knew, were the spark pulses of his brothers in battle, his comrades and the one spark he loved more dearly than his own. They were coming. Hope soared in ringing measures above the drums of war.

Neither Ironhide, Ratchet nor Jazz meant to spy on their commander in what felt like an immensely private moment, but there were times where they needed to be reminded that even Optimus Prime was not immune to the harshness of war. And at the moment, he looked extremely vulnerable.

It was... It was humbling, in an odd way.


	5. Chpt4: A NotSo Ordinary Wednesday

**A/N:** Primus-fraggit! What the hell?! How the heck do you get _writer's block_ on AUTHOR NOTES?! I wanted to say something that was somewhat meaningful but no, my brain went and hit the brakes! I mean, seriously! How does that work?!...

Forget it! Author notes are the product of the devil! (Or Unicron.)

**Disclaimer:**_Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Four: A Not-So Ordinary Wednesday

* * *

Monday morning dawned bright and clear, already showing the promise of a cloudless sky. Sam stared out the window briefly and plopped back down on his pillow. He still felt like he could do with another hour of sleep, but at least he was over that stupid flu. 

_Third to last day of school!_ He thought excitedly. That was enough to spurn him out of bed. _Finally! Just three more days and I'm out that hellhole for the summer!_

Sam dressed a bit haphazardly; sleeping clothes practically flying across the room in his haste to throw them off. Part of him could not wait to get this day started so he could get it over faster and move onto the next day and then get **that** one over with and then the next one so he could get on with summer break and spend it hanging out with giant alien robots.

Checking his backpack to make sure that he had everything that he hadn't been able to turn in on Friday, Sam raced downstairs. If he didn't move his butt, he was definitely going to be late.

"Bye Mom! Bye Dad!" he called out as he whipped past the kitchen.

"Sammy! Eat some breakfast!" Judy ordered. Sam doubled-back and found some previously frozen waffles fresh out of the toaster sitting on a plate for him. He grabbed his breakfast and started cramming the waffly goodness into his mouth as only a teenager could. He managed a rather mangled "thank you" and went back for the door.

"Do you have money for lunch?" His dad, Ron, asked before he got another step.

"Yes! Dad, I gotta go! I'm gonna be late!" Sam said emphatically, edging for the door. Two steps later, he took off.

"Stay on the path!"

Sam rolled his eyes as the screen door swung shut behind him, cramming another waffle into his mouth on top of the half-masticated remains of the first one. Bumblebee popped the door open as he reached the Camaro and Sam plopped into the driver's seat, flinging his bag into the back seat and closing the door.

"Sam? Do you **have** eat that in here?" Bee asked, sounding sort of put-upon. He did not like getting crumbs all over his interior.

"Yes. I can't do my history final on an empty stomach." Sam said, twisting around to make it look like he was backing out. Bee particularly hated backing out of the drive. He always had this funny feeling that some stupid maniac was going to come roaring down the road at 90 miles an hour and take off his back fender and then Ratchet would find it and beat him with it for letting such a stupid thing happen.

"How does your schedule go for this week?" Bee asked once they were on the road to the school.

"Seventh period today; one, two, and three tomorrow; and then four, five, and six Wednesday. Then school's out for the summer!" Sam said gleefully, taking a large bit of his third and last waffle. "Man, but I am not looking forward to tomorrow. English, Spanish and Algebra II all in one day."

"Why are you learning Spanish when you already speak English? And why are you learning English when you already speak it?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the Autobot's obvious confusion.

"English literature." he clarified, hearing an understanding noise emanate from the speakers. "I'm learning Spanish as a second language. I was going to take German, but everyone else jumped on it, so I had to go for either Spanish or French."

"...Oh..."

"You don't get it, do you..."

"Not at all."

"That's okay." Sam leaned forward and patted the dash. "I sorta don't get it either." He sat back and licked the crumbs off his fingers. "Hey... Bee, I sorta forgot to ask, but where were you all yesterday?"

The yellow Camaro had been missing until late in the evening yesterday, sporting a few new scratches and a dent or two. Sam had been forced to make up a really off-beat story he was pretty certain his parents didn't believe one jot.

"Ah... About that..." Bumblebee trailed off briefly as he came to a stop sign. He didn't speak again until he was across the intersection. A black SUV fell in behind them. "We had a new arrival."

"Really?" Sam started excitedly. "So that crater was--"

"Sam, put on your seat belt." Bee interrupted, noting its absence with an inward frown. Sam made a grumbling noise and let go of the steering wheel long enough to pull the restraint down and around and clicked it into place.

"So... New arrival." Sam prompted, glancing in the rearview mirror at the SUV. It was probably nothing but black SUVs tended to make him nervous nowadays.

"I sort of had to go rescue him from Starscream the other night." Bee said, a small mechanical cough escaping his vocal processor; indicating that he had to stop talking soon or he was going to wear out his vocal processor for the rest of the morning.

Sam's eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled down in a frown. Starscream hadn't taken too many shots at him personally, but he had unloaded plenty of impressive firepower on the other 'Bots. Taking that into account, part of him wasn't surprised the evil jet was still zipping around making life more dangerous than it ought to be.

"So, is he okay?" Sam asked.

"Who, Sunstreaker? Yeah, he's-- sorta fine. I mean... He's not dead or anything..." Bee replied sort of shiftily. Sam had the impression that Bee would've been rubbing the back of his head and looking away if he wasn't in alt-mode right now. "Ratchet said he woke up a few hours after he got most of the repairs done; which is good, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, he wasn't supposed to have; Ratchet wanted to keep him under for another day or so; make sure there was nothing wrong with him."

"Oh. Well, I guess there was nothing wrong with him." Sam said, shrugging. "Why, was Ratchet expecting a problem? Was he that badly injured?"

"Ah-- Well, y'know how in identical human twins, the zygote splits down the middle after being fertilized and becomes two separate zygotes?" Bee asked.

Sam had no idea why Bee would even ask a question like that, but he nodded anyways because he figured that the 'bot was gearing up for an explanation and just needed a jumping-off point.

"Well, the same thing can happen to our sparks."

And suddenly it made more sense.

"Sunstreaker's a twin? You guys can have twins?" the teen asked in surprise, staring at the dash.

"Yeah, mind you, it's really rare; like one in a billion or something like that." Bee said, shrugging mentally. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are the only set of twins that I know. Anyways, Ratchet was worried because Sunny and Sides literally share a half of the same spark, so there's some metaphysical bond there between them and mental state of one reflects the mental state of the other. Basically, if Sunstreaker's not all there, then Sideswipe won't be all there either and then we've got a problem on our hands because none of us have a clue where Sideswipe is."

"Uh-- huh..." Sam nodded slowly, not quite absorbing all of that. His brain was still grappling with the idea that the Autobots could actually have brothers or sisters. Here he thought they couldn't. Proved how much he didn't know yet.

"The good news is Sideswipe is still alive somewhere because Sunstreaker seems to be okay, mentally." Bee went on. "I just wish he had some idea where everyone _else_ is."

"You guys don't know?"

"Primus Sam, a lot of mechs went missing after the launch of the AllSpark. Not to mention the Purge. All the gestalt teams just _vanished_ off the face of Cybertron, our triple-changers are missing too, a lot of others are classified as dead and we got so scattered chasing down the AllSpark, I think we'll be lucky to get more than three or four replies! Oh! And don't even get me started on what happened to the femmes--!"

"Okay, I get it! A lot of shit happened and a lot of people are missing." Sam interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't need to get all defensive about it."

Bumblebee was silent for a long moment.

"I'm sorry." he said at last. "It was a very chaotic few days back then. We barely had any breathing room between the launch and the Purge. There were only handful of mechs who we were sure made it through the battle. And I knew a lot of the ones who are still missing. It's -- upsetting, too, to see the Twins separated. As far as any of us are concerned, it's unnatural."

"Oh..." Sam bit his lip. He barely knew anything at all about the Autobots' history and even less about their absent comrades. It was disconcerting to remember that Bumblebee was the rough equivalent of 17 or 18 years old and he had seen far more terrible things in his life than Sam could begin to imagine.

"Well, it's good that -- you guys got **a** response -- of sorts -- to that message." he said at last awkwardly.

"Yeah..." Bumblebee agreed, sounding a little distant. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Please tell me that's not S7 behind us."

Sam looked again at the black SUV. The windshield was tinted so he couldn't see the driver very well. There was a silhouette of a passenger in the other seat.

"They're disbanded." the teen muttered.

"Wouldn't stop them." Bee coughed again; a sure sign his vocal processor was giving out.

"Lay off the talking Bee." Sam advised, patting the steering wheel.

"_Don't speak, I know just what you're saying._"retorted the radio. Sam only shook his head, but he couldn't deny the tight feeling that had formed around his lungs at the first sight of the SUV.

It eased a little when the high school building came into view. S7 -- even their desperate tattered remnants -- would be stupid to try anything where there were witnesses and plenty of them. The SUV pulled out from behind the Camaro as Sam and Bee headed into the student parking lot, to their equal relief. Sam tracked its progress to the teacher parking lot and then figured it would probably be safe to ignore it.

Unless he saw any furtive-looking men in black suits skulking around.

Then he was going to cram himself into a locker and blame it on Trent.

Sam climbed out his car just in time to be jumped on by Miles.

"Hey, bro! Feelin' better?" Miles flung a companionable arm around Sam's shoulders as they walked to the entrance.

"Yeah. Hey, you ready for finals?" Sam asked.

"Hoo... I've got this horrible feeling that I'm going flunk the Spanish final." Miles said after a moment of thought. "You?"

"Same."

"We go down together."

They did the male-bonding-knuckle-punch thing and headed into the school.

The two boys had sought friendship with each other some time in first grade under the idea that outcasts had to stick together, because by then, they clearly weren't among the popular kids and they had been best friends ever since. Then they found out that they could call each other names, poke fun at each other and completely wail on each other until they were black and blue, but still by the end of the day, they were still -- somehow -- the best of friends.

How's that for solidarity?

They hadn't spoken much after the Mission City mess, due largely to Sam's blossoming relationship with Mikaela; who had lost the "evil jock-concubine" status in Miles's eyes after she'd dumped Trent in front of everybody and earning Miles's approval. Miles had kept his distance for the first week; claiming that he "didn't want to get in the way". Mikaela had urged Sam to talk to his friend and let him know that they were still friends. Miles had accepted the apology, of whatever sort it was, and had taken to eating lunch with them again, but he still refused to get a ride from Sam to school; preferring that beat-up, nearly dying moped of his. Sam had seen the way Miles had skirted nervously around Bumblebee after the Autobot had turned up with the '09 make-over. By now, Sam had the creeping feeling that Miles had caught on to the fact that the Camaro was way more than what it seemed to be. Whether or not Miles knew the Camaro was really a giant alien robot was still up for debate, but Sam wasn't going to press the matter.

They split up to head to their lockers and their shortened first period. Sam had to fight his locker before it opened -- it would never open on the first try -- and practically buried the upper half of his body in it, in search for his English book. He **really **needed to get this cleaned out before the year was out. Maybe he could convince the study hall teacher to let him take care of this during his study hall period.

"Hello stranger." came a voice that he welcomed very much.

"Hey Miki." Sam said absently, catching a glimpse of something dark green on the bottom.

"Do you need some help down there?" Mikaela asked, resting a hand on his back between his shoulder blades.

"No, I think I got it. I think--" Sam wrenched his other textbooks out of the way and unearthed his English book. "There it is."

He straightened up and tossed it onto the floor with a heavy smack, shoving his backpack into the locker after extracting the necessary materials.

"So how was your weekend?" he asked.

"Pretty good." Mikaela replied, smiling. "I took a shower, but I still smell like the garage. How was your weekend-- Oh, wait, you were sick."

"Okay, if you ignore the fact I spent an hour or two puking, it was alright." Sam said. He was about to close his locker when there was an annoyed squeak from his bag. Mikaela gave him an alarmed look, but Sam just extracted his cell phone. "And this happened."

The cell phone uncurled before Mikaela's astonished eyes. Just like Sam, she immediately thought of the crazy ninja Nokia from the Hoover Dam, but the Sprint phone wasn't attacking everything in sight. It was looking around the new place with mild interest.

"Is that your cell phone?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's sorta complicated." Sam said, waving his free hand. "I call him LG."

LG chirped a greeting and almost seemed to pose for the teen girl, causing Mikaela to giggle and reach out a hand. The little mech jumped from Sam's hand to hers and Mikaela brought her hand close to her face. LG arranged his limbs so that two of them were crossed over his tiny chassis and a third with its three miniscule fingers were cupped around where his chin would be, blue optics wide in a mock-expression of Deep Thought.

"He's cute." Mikaela decided with a smile.

Before Sam could say anything, some little warning buzzer went off in the back of his head. He called it his "Jock-Radar" and whenever it went off, it was usually time to make himself scarce. He grabbed LG from Mikaela's hand -- the mini-Autobot squeaked in annoyance and disapproval of the treatment -- and hid it from sight as Trent and his usual posse of football jerks passed by.

Normally, Trent would've stopped to say something and act tough in an attempt to assert his dominance. But he was the sort who preferred to do that stuff in privacy, in the case that it failed, he wouldn't be publicly humiliated; only a handful of people would know and those people were his friends. Besides, his last encounter with the couple had ended in a warning for him that he would be suspended from the football team if he kept antagonizing Sam and Mikaela.

So all Trent did now was shoot them a dirty look, say nothing and keep walking.

"Stupid jerks..." Mikaela muttered, hiking her bag a little higher. "C'mon, let's get to class."

They maneuvered the halls with expert ease, avoiding the seniors were anxious to graduate and sporting severe cases of senioritis; half-bouncing off the walls in their eagerness to get the heck out of here. It would be worse tomorrow and even more so on Wednesday. Some of the more serious or completely unprepared kids were bundles of nerves and then there were the kids who felt so utterly prepared that nothing could ruffle them. Sam liked to think that he was in the latter group; prepared to pass but not looking to get into Harvard. Not like that overachieving older sister of his who could not be bothered to come home for Christmas or the holidays or even over summer break and thus had not been seen in about two years.

The couple entered the English classroom, Sam already pulling out his paper to hand in to the teacher. She took it with a smile and asked him if he was feeling better. Sam answered with a short yes and took his seat next to Mikaela. The rest of the class filed in, the bell rang and the last-minute reviewing began.

Somewhere in the middle of the class when the teacher was saying that, yes, they would be expected to know a few things about essay writing; Mikaela saw a note flop onto her desk. She looked up and around. The students weren't too silent, debating with the teacher or their fellow students. Judging from where it sat, it hadn't come from Sam; he was bent over his textbook, reading something with apparent great interest and glancing back at his notes. Trent, however, was sitting two rows up and three desks to the left and glancing over his shoulder while whispering with his fellow jerk. Curious, Mikaela unfolded the note and there in Trent's nearly illegible handwriting was the following: _'Hey little bunny. Wanna go on a date 2nite?'_

Scowling, Mikaela glared at Trent and pointedly ripped the note in half. Just then, another folded sheet of paper was flipped onto her desk from Sam's direction. In Sam's much more legible handwriting was the following: _'Bots have new friend. Named Sunstreaker.'_

Looking up again, Mikaela caught her ex's eye and decided to giggle, then, with a mischievous smile curving her lips, she wrote back: _'I know. Sort of got caught in the middle of the firefight. I'm okay. Now smile and make Trent annoyed._'

Sam did so and the note was flipped back a moment later with a new message.

'_Wanna go out tonight? Pizza? Mini-golf? Ice cream?'_

'_Your mom invited me over for dinner tonight.'_

'_Wednesday?_'

'_O.K.'_

Grinning, Sam shoved the paper into his pocket and went back to reviewing. Mikaela turned to her own textbook and stared at it for a moment. There was a sentence in there that had the words "rhythm, blues, and jazz music" and her mind immediately started to churn. Sam didn't know about **that** yet. Should she tell him or should she not? None of the other Autobots seemed too keen on letting it out that their formerly dead companion was not so dead anymore, but it seemed sort of unfair to not to. After a moment of indecision -- they wouldn't kill her for it -- she grabbed a fresh sheet of paper, scribbled down a few words, folded it up, and then flicked it over to her boyfriend.

The edge of the paper caught the tip of Sam's nose and he jerked back in surprise. He unfolded it to find only three and a half words in Mikaela's handwriting.

'_Jazz isn't dead.'_

Which cued Sam's flustered, as-silent-as-possible "What the hell?" moment. He looked between the words and his girlfriend in a mixture of shock and confusion. She nodded minutely in response to his unasked question and he stared at the words again. Jazz isn't dead... ...Well, what the hell?! The silver mech had been pretty damn well dead the last time Sam had seen him! What on earth had changed?!

He kept his mouth clamped shut until the bell rang for the end of class.

"Mikaela! What the hell?!" Sam hissed as they joined the throng in the hall, waving the note around.

"Just what it says. Jazz isn't dead." Mikaela hissed back. "Something about that fragment of the AllSpark that's left. He's been back since the first week of June and I only just found out last Saturday."

"Why didn't they tell us?" Sam asked, still lingering somewhere in confusion. _Jazz isn't dead anymore?_

"They wanted to keep him a secret or something like that." Mikaela explained, shrugging. "I don't know the details. I guess it's got something to do with the-- well, y'know."

Sam nodded, understanding a little more. The Autobots had implied that there was still a large number of Decepticons running around the universe unaccounted for. Many of those Decepticons were still loyal to Megatron and in light of his death; they would probably bring the war back to Earth for one reason.

In a word, revenge.

* * *

The seventh period History students sweated under the watchful eyes of their teacher, Mr. Hosney, and bit their pencils and fingernails as they worked their way through the multiple-choice final exam. Mr. Hosney didn't assign a lot of homework, but his tests and quizzes were always hell in the form of paper and ink. 

Naturally, Sam panicked.

Oh sure, he had been calm and collected through the rest of the day, but the second that exam paper hit his desk, some part of him had started to wail and bang its metaphorical head on the nearest metaphorical wall.

How he had managed to squash it and get on with the exam is something no teenager will ever be able to figure out, but Sam was successful and he walked out at the end of the day feeling somewhat harried.

There were no black SUVs in the parking lot.

* * *

The afternoon air of Wednesday seemed to be quiver with anticipation. School was less than an hour away from ending and everyone cooped up in the Health classroom was restless. Their teacher had bade them to be quiet so he could grade their exams in peace and let the slower students finish up in quiet. There was still an undercurrent of whispering and a quiet **thwock** noise as Sam and Miles played paper football. 

They had finished their exams over 45 minutes ago and had been trying to occupy their time quietly. Since they were never up to speed on the latest gossip and many of the other kids preferred to ignore them (two juniors in a class of sophomores), they had to stick to themselves, occasionally lobbing small wads of paper at the unsuspecting evil jocks when said evil jocks had their backs turned and cackling softly.

Sam's previous plans with Mikaela for today had been modified slightly (reduced amounts of kissing and cuddling and generally being very, very sweet on each other) because he felt sort of bad for leaving Miles out. He really didn't want to be one of those people who accidentally drove their best friend off because they spent all their time wrapped up in their new sweetheart and then by the time they realized it, it was too late and the old best friend really didn't want much to do with them.

Besides, Sam figured that today would be a good time to fill Miles in on the whole giant robots from outer space thing and explain about his car because there was no way in hell he could stay away from Miles all summer with his buddy getting overtly suspicious.

The school seemed to be holding its breath as the seconds ticked down. It was almost 3:00. Sam glanced at his watch, heard his cell phone squeak softly in his pants pocket -- and wished the silly little thing would stop insisting on following him around -- and his hand crept to his bag strap in preparation.

The boys had a tradition on the last day of school. They would always race for the doors. Whoever made it out first won and the loser owed the winner a milkshake.

The bell rang.

And the boys were off.

People were wise to clear out of the way as the two teenage boys tore down the hall, thoughts of a super chocolatety milkshake dancing over their heads. It was all in good fun.

But Sam tripped up and Miles was the winner.

"Yes! Second year in a row!" Miles danced his victory dance in the middle of the walk while the chattering happy students flowed out around him. "You owe me sugar!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. So long as you stay in the range of my allowance." Sam said, joining his still-dancing friend.

"So you mean I don't get the hot fudge and the fancy sprinkles?"

"...They have fancy sprinkles?"

"Yeah, they're like spirals and stars and stuff. Fancy stuff."

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

Sam tried to contemplate the idea of fancy sprinkles.

Due to his edginess around a certain Camaro, Miles buggered off to where he had parked his old battered moped on the other side of the parking lot. Letting out a laugh, Sam sat down on Bumblebee's hood to wait for Mikaela. She was probably looking for him right now, but he had no desire to go back into the school to search for her. He wasn't going to set one toe, not even a skin flake, back in that place until 8:00 a.m. on the Tuesday after Labor Day.

"_School's out for summer! School's out forever! School's been blown to pieces!"_ Bee sang via Alice Cooper._ "No more pencils! No more books! No more teachers dirty looks!"_

"Oh Bee, stop that." Sam hissed, crossing his arms.

"_School's out forever! School's out for summer! School's out with fever! School's out completely!_"

Sam jammed his heel into the front left tire and smiled good-naturedly at his fellow teenagers' amused/confused looks and then proceeded to ignore them. Sometimes, Bee chose the most inopportune times to turn on the radio. Like in the middle of a parking lot when Sam clearly wasn't in the car.

Finally, out of the wave of students surging into the parking lot, Mikaela emerged, grinning from ear to ear and practically running up to him. She flung her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips, eliciting whistles and cat-calls from those around them. Both of them jumped into the Camaro and practically flew across the parking lot. On the far side, Miles seemed to be having a violent disagreement with his moped, which refused to start, by the looks of things.

"Need a ride, bro?" Sam asked, leaning out the window.

Miles, who had drawn his leg back to deliver another kick to the malfunctioning moped, stopped mid-motion and Sam saw him stiffen for a moment.

"Nah, I'm good." Miles said and kicked the moped viciously.

"Miles, put that in the trunk and get in." Mikaela instructed. "I'll take a look at it for you and see if I can fix it, okay? Free of charge."

Like any person, Miles had a weakness for free things, so he hiked up his dead mode of transportation and carried it over to the trunk. The back had already popped open.

Bee grimaced slightly at the weight when it settled in. He would have to eject it if the need to transform arose but he hoped that wouldn't happen because A: he didn't want to be forced to transform suddenly and B: ejecting the moped probably wouldn't endear him to Miles and he wanted to make a good first impression.

Mikaela had slid into the back seat so Miles could have the front and wouldn't have to climb over her.

As they pulled out of the parking lot for the last time for the summer, Sam glanced at his friend, who was scrubbing an oil stain off the tip of his shoe and decided that now would be a good time to bring up the alien robot thing, because Miles wouldn't be able to get away while in the car.

He took a deep breath.

"Hey, Miles?"

"...Yeah?"

"I got something I need to tell you about."

* * *

Miles was having an ordinary Wednesday. 

Ordinary in the sense that giant robots were the last things on his mind, provided they were even there at all.

He'd gotten up briefly at some early hour to let his dog, Mason outside to go crap in the yard -- or the neighbor's yard if he knew his dog -- then got up again at a somewhat later hour to go shove an annoying little brother off to the elementary school and make sure that the slightly hungover parents got off to work on time. Then he ate a lethal dose of Froot Loops for breakfast and got himself off the school on a shaky and most likely failing moped because he didn't like to get near that hunk of machinery his buddy Sam called a car.

His brain faltered on that thought. Miles hadn't spoken much to Sam since he'd gotten that car. Which had somehow gone from a POS 1976 Camaro to an extra-shiny, egregiously expensive and momentarily non-existent 2009 GTO Camaro Concept. Miles swore that Satan's Camaro had infected Sam. It was the only explanation for Sam getting the evil jock concubine Mikaela Banes.

What the hell had happened to 'bros before hoes' anyways?

But Mikaela had turned out to be not that bad. She was smart and Miles had been failing chemistry. Thanks to her, he now had a chance of scraping a passing grade in that class. Sam had scored a pretty good girlfriend.

That still didn't mean Miles liked his car.

It lived up to its unofficial "Satan's Camaro" title. Miles knew there was something funny about the car. The radio would turn on by itself. Sam claimed that it was just a loose wire and he'd get Mikaela to take a look at it; though that hadn't happened yet. The doors would swing open whenever Sam and/or Mikaela reached them. For that, Sam just said the latches were loose; he'd Mikaela to take a look at those too, but that also had yet to happen. But the one Sam couldn't bat off with a technical explanation was the feeling Miles got around the car. He always got this crawling feeling that something or someone was _watching_ him. Miles knew that there was something not quite right about the damn shiny Camaro.

That was most of the reason he'd kicked his moped when the hunk of junk had failed to start. Now he **had** to take a ride from Sam.

And then Sam told him that he had something to tell him about and thus giant robots were brought to the forefront of Miles's mind.

The truth spilled out of Sam's mouth before he could filter it.

Or even think.

"My Camaro is actually a giant alien robot from outer space and there's four others like him that were all in that big fight down in Mission City a couple of weeks ago and I was right there in the middle of it -- that's how I got my hands burned -- but the good guys won and I figured that I really should tell you about this because more of the good guys are probably going to be coming to Earth but so are some of the bad guys and I just figured you should know because you're best friend and all and I didn't want you getting mad at me because I couldn't give you a good reason for not hanging out with you all summer and I could quite possibly turn up dead before this is all over."

Sam gasped for breath.

Miles stared at him for a moment.

"Your car is a giant alien robot?" he eventually asked, frowning. If he hadn't known that Sam was perfectly clean, Miles would've accused him of buying pot off the bad part of town and sneaking behind the gym to smoke it with the rest of the druggies.

"Don't panic." Sam took his hands off the wheel and completely looked away from the road. The car didn't swerve or waver. It remained perfectly straight.

"S'cool man." Miles said nonchalantly, settling back in the seat but the skin on his back suddenly crawled. This car was actually a giant alien robot?

"You're okay with it?" Sam asked, looking and sounding very disbelieving.

"I knew something was up." Miles said, shrugging and wondering if the apparent giant alien robot could feel his butt in the seat and if it bothered the giant alien robot. He made a mental note to ask once the revelation sunk in. Right now, it was still floating on the surface of his mind.

It didn't actually hit him until they were halfway through the mini-golf game (which Miles was the self-proclaimed king of), when his brain went _SAM'S CAR IS A GIANT ALIEN ROBOT FROM OUTER SPACE!!!!_ and he whacked his club on the poor little golf ball just a bit too hard. The ball ricocheted off a windmill arm and struck some unsuspecting sap right between the eyes. The man dropped like a stone.

Half an hour later, Miles was grilling the couple for all the details.

A little later that night, Sam -- or rather, the Camaro, who was named "Bumblebee" -- was taking them to meet up with the rest of the Autobots when Miles asked his question.

"Hey, d'you think the car can feel our butts in his seats?"

There was dead silence in the car. The question, which had never occurred to Sam and Mikaela before, immediately made them wonder and then they began to feel a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" asked a somewhat hoarse, unfamiliar voice that Miles hadn't heard before. So the car could talk back. Wicked.

Miles grinned widely. "Well? Can you?"

The Camaro responded with a rude-sounding burst of radio static.


	6. Chpt5: Party Crashers

**A/N:** Finally.. This chapter finally introduces some new faces and if you read the last chapter of _Universal Language_ then you should already know who one of those faces is. The other newcomer is probably easily guessed. That being said, I should mention this now. **I do not and never will write slash. This is a slash-free zone. **

And another thing. This always bugged me in G1. In water, why do the Autobots float? Why do they always float? Chest-high in any given body of water at that! They are made of metal! A lot of metal! They should sink! When I write giant robots in water, they are going to sink, dammit! 

And now dear readers, once more to the breach!

**Disclaimer:**_ Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me. 

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Five: Party Crashers 

* * *

The sky was incredibly clear tonight. It seemed as though the heavens would simply part. Optimus felt like he could see into the forever. The absolute serenity he felt tonight was barely disturbed by the shrieks of laughter and the crackle and pop of the bonfire that had been built not too far away. Sam and Mikaela had arrived less than an hour ago with the intention of sleeping out here in the base with their friend Miles in tow. After a few collective "meeps", Miles was to the utmost secrecy sworn by Ironhide at cannon-point. Miles claimed this was the weirdest and coolest thing to ever happen to him in his life, but he really doubted that anyone would believe him, so they didn't have to worry about a thing.

Jazz's living condition had been confirmed and officially revealed to the kids and there was much rejoicing. The kids wanted to celebrate the end of the school year and extended curfews and Jazz liked parties, so it hadn't been something they could really keep a secret for much longer.

Optimus glanced over to the gathering of his comrades. The humans were toasting marshmallows for something called s'mores over a smaller fire. The larger one had been created by Ironhide, courtesy of one of his cannons. Of course, it was too hot for the humans to safely stay near, so Ratchet had plucked a log or two out for the gathered humans to use. Jazz was playing some raucous music over his speakers and bobbing his head to the beat while Bee campaigned to find out whether or not his holoform was capable of consuming human food. He'd already confessed that he'd be very disappointed if he couldn't and was currently toasting a marshmallow for testing purposes. His protoform sat sedately near the large bonfire with Ironhide somewhat discreetly keeping guard on it when the Weapons Specialist wasn't trying to threaten off the little cell phone transformer that Sam had inadvertently brought to life, which insisted on mocking the mech with the giant cannons for some unfathomable and extremely suicidal reason. Ratchet was listing off the (non-existent) nutritional value of the s'more and how eating too many would be detrimental to a human's health and Mikaela kept telling him to knock it off because clearly no one was listening.

It was a sort of care-free excitement they hadn't known in a long while and Optimus didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to join it. 

Maybe he just wanted the peace tonight. He certainly wasn't going to get it over there with Sam running around with a burning marshmallow on a poker, claiming it was the Olympic torch. Miles offered to eat the burnt crisp that was left behind; despite the fact it was obviously half-carbonized by the time the flames were blown out.

Humans were very strange sometimes.

Optimus stretched back in the waving grass and tucked his hands underneath his head and stared straight up at the stars. It felt very good to just.. relax. He hadn't had the opportunity to relax in a long time. This war had kept him very busy. He prayed that it had actually ended with the destruction of the AllSpark and the death of Megatron, but he knew that that just might be too much to hope for. The fact that Sunstreaker was lying all beaten up in the medbay was proof enough that things were not as resolved as he would've liked.

Where there was good, there was evil.

It was just a fact of life.

A cheer rose up from the others after Bee happily announced that the holoforms were indeed capable of eating human food and holy slag this s'more tasted good. Optimus couldn't see them -- he was just downhill enough -- but he could see the red-orange glow of the fire and the flickering shadows. It was good. It was good that they had this chance. This chance to sit back and cool their heels, as the humans would put it, and just let the world keep turning without them there for a bit. Just for a bit. They did have a duty, but everyone needed the chance to unwind. Even the illustrious Autobot commander.

And then he saw it.

His eyesight being far more superior to that of a human's, Optimus didn't miss the strange phenomenon unfolding far out in space. There were tiny pinpricks of light racing around so far out. He couldn't quite tell how far out, but they were there.

It looked like.. It looked like a firefight. 

* * *

_Slagslagslagslagslag!!_

Prowl had been in bad situations numerous times in the past, but he had never had all three Decepticon triple-changers on his aft before.

Particularly not without some sort of back-up.

The tactician and second-in-command of the Autobot forces barreled past the gassy, purplish-blue planet with Octane bearing down on him, intent on throwing him into the planet's atmosphere. A quick scan revealed that the atmosphere was composed of helium and hydrogen with trace amounts of methane. Flammable gasses. The Decepticon probably planned on igniting the atmosphere once the Autobot had been pushed under. 

Well slag.

Prowl narrowly dodged Octane's sudden, downward motion; the triple-changer's belly brushing the topmost layer of the atmosphere. Prowl felt the intense cold radiating off gas planet for a brief second before his thrusters kicked him away. Astrotrain and Blitzwing came roaring seemingly out of nowhere, guns barking out bolts of raw energy. The Autobot pulled out both his acid-pellet rifles and fired back, each blast sending him further and further away from the three ruthless Decepticons. The lack of any solid ground kept the triple-changers confined to their flight-based and standard modes, but it was still three on one.

This was not good.

Prowl had been floating somewhere in deep space, trying not to drop into stasis out of sheer boredom when he'd heard Optimus Prime's transmission, relaying the news of Megatron's defeat and the unfortunate destruction of the AllSpark, meaning restoring Cybertron was out of the question; no doubt permanently. But a new homeworld and a dead Megatron all in one moment had been far more than Prowl had been praying for. He had made a copy of the message and the coordinates and had pretty much used himself as a springboard to send the package even further into the void. This was wonderful. The situation had been looking so incredibly bleak for so long and then to hear something like that.. This had come as a very, very welcome surprise.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing coming as a surprise. 

Albeit a very unwelcome surprise.

Somewhere in a ring of icy asteroids, the three Decepticon triple-changers had been lying in wait, expertly hiding their signatures. Prowl's sensors hadn't picked them up until they were almost on top of him. It quickly became clear that the Decepticons had received a message of their own from the contingent of Decepticons already on the planet's surface on an encrypted channel and were now intent on keeping the wayward Autobots from ever reaching Optimus Prime.

Armor stinging and sparking from the damages he had taken so far, Prowl opened up a communication channel and started to transmit. He didn't know if his message would reach. The coordinates he was transmitting to were so far off and there was so much space to cover.

Still, he had to try. 

* * *

Someone had just tossed a string of firecrackers into the flame, causing quite a few small explosions that had Ratchet yelling out various safety tips (mainly "Run away! I'm not fixing anything if you're stupid enough to get hurt!") Ironhide wanted to cause a larger explosion just for the hell of it; the kids, Jazz, and Bee all cheering and laughing and-- ugh, _urging_ Ironhide on (very bad thing to do). 

And that's when Optimus heard it.

"_Opti-- --ime --in! This -- Aut-- Pro-- Come -- --se!_"

It was distressingly faint, like it was coming at an extremely far distance and inevitably static-ridden. Earth's atmosphere did not handle long-range transmissions between Autobots very well just due to the sheet amount of _stuff_ that was in the atmosphere; they hadn't gotten around to refining the wavelengths yet. 

But that didn't matter. 

It was **there**.

It was a response.

And it sounded like Prowl.

"_--am in th-- --lar system-- am current-- --sued by t-- --con triple-- --ers! I have -- beli-- --ceptic-- is on the move!_"

Optimus sat up, more attentive now and listening hard to the broken message.

"_If you receiv-- --pared fo-- --nd all hosti-- sent you-- --sage further into --eep space, but I can-- reinforce-- will -- enough! Plea--_"

And it cut off there.

Optimus swore. 

Loudly.

"Optimus?" Ironhide had been drawn by his commander's foul word-use. The noise of the raucous little celebration had withered away and Optimus looked upon his old friend with world-weary optics.

"Prowl." he said. 

Ironhide shifted uncertainly, glancing around as though the mech in question had walked up without his realizing. But there was no one.

"Optimus? I'm Ironhide, remember?" The Weapons Specialist pointed at himself for good measure. 

By this time, the rest of the group was peering curiously over the rise of the hill.

"Prowl is coming." Optimus elaborated.

"Really?" Jazz lit up at the prospect of his best friend arriving.

"And the Decepticon triple-changers are following him." Optimus added heavily.

The happy, peaceful atmosphere fell with a crash. 

* * *

Prowl could already see it. The planet where Prime's transmission had originated from. It was a brilliant blue-green jewel in the dark of space. Half of it was turned away from the sun, yet it still glittered with artificial light. The other half was lit up by the sun, glimmering in its own way. It was a beautiful planet and already, Prowl would be happy to call it home.

Now if he could just get rid of these fragging Decepticons that were hanging on his aft..

Blitzwing had pounded a nasty hit on him a few breems earlier, forcing him to cut his transmission short and fight back. Now he was running.

"Get the slag back here and fight like a mech, Autobot!" Astrotrain roared from behind. Only a Decepticon could make the word "Autobot" sound like a curse. 

Of course, Prowl had no intention of remaining to fight. If he did, Ratchet would probably have his aft for a wall trophy once the SIC made planet-fall.

"Come back here and show us you got the gears to take us on, you femme!" Bliztwing added, firing off a few shots. Prowl swerved, avoiding the first two, but the third skimmed along his right leg, leaving a blackened streak of metal behind. He grimaced and dulled the dermal sensors in that area so the pain wouldn't distract him.

And behind him, the three triple-changers shifted to their flight-modes for an added boost.

Prowl spat all manner of vile curse words; words he normally wouldn't utter in the company of his fellow Autobots (save Jazz because-- well, that was Jazz). It was alarming to realize just how many he had picked up, because he normally didn't resort to such language. Even the three triple-changers were a bit taken aback by the mouth the tactician exhibited.

And the few seconds of grace were all that he needed.

The burst of speed coming from-- somewhere, Prowl dove headlong into the asteroid belt that separated the final gassy planet from the four solid planets closer to the sun. If he could lose them long enough; just long enough, maybe he could get to the third planet without becoming more beat-up than he already was.

He found a nice crevice to wedge himself in on one asteroid and dampened his energy signature, tentatively keeping a scanner on the Decepticons to track their progress through the asteroid belt.

_I'm not here. Just pass me by. You don't see me. You don't know I'm here because I'm __**not**__ here._

The sentence didn't make a whole lot of sense, but Prowl had given up on logic for the time being. Space was so vast. Anything and everything was out here and weird things tended to happen without a logical explanation.

_That's right.._ Prowl thought as the triple-changers began to drift out of his sensor range. _I'm ahead of you, not behind you. Just keep going in that direction and we'll all be happy. Well, I'll be happy. I don't think you'll be. But I don't care about you._

When the triple-changers were blips on the edge of his sensors, Prowl dislodged himself from the crevice, pushing away from the asteroid and drifting gently. He could see the triple-changers now. So long as none of them just so happened to glance behind them..

A second later, he wished that that thought had not crossed his processor, for Octane just so happened to look over his shoulder.

"Autobot!" he screamed and barreled right for the tactician.

_Aww, slag._

Prowl was far from dumb. He ran again. Unfortunately, his path would take him right into the shooting range of the Decepticons but that was a sacrifice he had to make. The shortest path was often the straightest and he had to reach the third planet as fast as possible.

But the triple-changers were bearing upon him.

And then something small and round with a blinking red light bonked into Astrotrain's head. He plucked it out of space before it could get away.

"What the slag is this?" he asked.

Blitzwing narrowed his optics. "Looks like a bomb."

That thing's design had "Wheeljack" written all over it.

Prowl fled.

The red light blinked its fastest and then stopped.

The bomb detonated.

The silent concussive force exploded out in every direction. The bomb served two purposes. One was to destroy -- or at least heavily damage -- the Decepticons. The second purpose allowed Prowl to ride the blast like a wave all the way to the third planet.

Which was coming up extremely fast, by the way. Wheeljack was somewhere behind him, wavering on the edge of his sensors, riding the blast as well, but this was no time to go exchanging pleasantries. Prowl was already stripping the extra armor casing from his body to create a heat shield of sorts for atmospheric entry. It probably wasn't a good idea to come in at full burn, but he was **not** going to linger. Whether or not he landed near his comrades almost didn't matter. The planet offered a modicum of safety and faster he got there, the longer he had to hide and locate said comrades. 

He felt the heat and resistance of the planet's atmosphere wrap around him and then his sensors blacked out. 

* * *

"Look! There's two of them!" Sam exclaimed, pointing to the two identical streaks of fire burning through the atmosphere far, far away and disappeared beyond the horizon.

All of the Autobots had gathered at the top of the hill, as it was the best vantage point, the kids perched on their shoulders, to have a better look at the two pseudo-shooting stars. 

Jazz tilted his head to the side slightly and didn't move for a moment.

"They're not transmitting anything." he announced.

"Three-minute sensory and communications blackout. Happens whenever the spaceships come back through the atmosphere."

Everyone glanced over at who had spoken.

"What?" Miles looked taken aback by the sudden attention focused on him. "I pay attention in class sometimes!"

Everyone looked skeptical.

"Okay, I remember it from _Apollo 13_." Miles admitted, crossing his arms and looking distinctly put-out.

Optimus was already hacking into the satellites in orbit to see what the images had to show. It was important to find out who the second newcomer was and where both of them had landed; in case the second was one of the triple-changers and Prowl turned out to be in no condition to fight. A second set of coordinates would probably need to be transmitted.

A series of satellite imagery flashed through Optimus's processor and he carefully sorted through them. A majority of them were comprised of the oblong, pod-structures the Autobots had used for atmospheric entry. One of the pods was further back than the other and behind both of them was an odd ripply disturbance; like a wave of high-heat. 

The feed showed the pods racing past, burning up in the atmosphere. They were then lost in a bank of clouds, but if they both had stayed on their estimated trajectory, they had make planet-fall on the east coast, around the state of New York. 

Optimus relayed that information to the others and waited for their replies. 

It was Sam who spoke first.

"So what now?" 

* * *

The cold water was an_extremely_ unpleasant shock to his systems, particularly after the molten heat he had just been subjected to. Prowl did a most uncharacteristic thing as the water flooded in around him. He shrieked and curled up in a tight ball.

His heating system kicked on with a vengeance as the Autobot sank through at least 60 feet of cold water and hit the bottom hard. Orienting himself towards the surface, he fought his way upwards. For never having swum before in his life, he did pretty well and his head broke the surface and he was treated to a very clear sky and for a moment, he was mesmerized by it.

Then he found out that he wasn't very buoyant.

Vents sputtering to eject the saltwater from his innards, Prowl fought to stay near the surface and "swam" to the shore. After a few minutes of frantic movements that couldn't actually be called swimming (more like the thrashing of a drowning squirrel), his feet met with solid ground for the first time in ages and he sort of staggered for the beach, water spilling out of his vents, alongside some small, scaly organic creatures that had gotten caught suddenly. He hoped nothing would start rusting or worse, shorting out. That water had gotten everywhere. He wasn't meant to be in the water. Seaspray he was not.

Prowl sat down on the sandy shore. The cold water had done some good in soothing the various burns of just barely missed energy bolts. He was still one piece, still functioning and nothing major was broken. Scanners and sensors were working again, communications were back up and best of all, he had lost the triple-changers. Hopefully they were in pieces.

So far, so good.

Something else shrieked.

Instinctively, Prowl reached for the rifle he had subspaced and then he caught a look at what had made the noise. It was a small bipedal organic creature. Actually, there were two of them and both were standing a good distance away. Their faces were twisted in what Prowl took to be fear. It was little wonder they were afraid. They were so small in comparison and he would probably be able to kill them both just by stepping on them.

Not that he would. That would be very Decepticon of him.

Slowly, Prowl raised his hands and offered them a very slight smile he hoped was reassuring. He scooted away from the before rising to his feet and decided that he'd best find himself an alt-mode before any unfriendly eyes found him.

Or before he scared the bejeezus out of any more clueless couples out for a romantic ocean-side stroll. 

* * *

The situation hadn't exactly been favorable to begin with, but Wheeljack knew that it was now distinctly unfair.

After rescuing Prowl from the triple-changers (And he hadn't said one word of thanks! That ungrateful slagger!) and following him in through the atmosphere, Wheeljack had made a crash-landing in some hollow rock-like structures that he realized were buildings. And there was something digging into his back too now. Ouch. 

As he turned his sensors back on -- they had blacked out upon entry, so he'd just shut them off -- information flooded his processor. Information about the planet itself; of its inhabitants, it climate, its history as written by the natives, and its myriad of languages. Wheeljack blocked most of it, focusing on the languages. There was at least 20 of them! Amazing! Quickly, he did some comparison to find out which one was the most commonly spoken and downloaded a few online dictionaries. And now he could communicate with the locals.

Plucking what looked to be a chair out of tender spot in his side, Wheeljack stood up slowly, wincing every inch of the way. Everything was working properly; he just felt like one giant stress fracture.

Right.. Now to find an alt-mode-- 

_Primus! Look at all this organic life!_

Wheeljack felt distinctly like a sparkling in a goodie shop as he dashed over to examine the massive oak tree that had miraculously survived his crash landing. He ran his hands over the rough bark, scanning it deeply. One ring for every year it had lived. There were 80 rings. That was amazing. That was really amazing. Organic life was often hard-pressed to survive in such a rough universe and here it was living -- even flourishing on this backwater planet. Honestly, Perceptor was going to blow a fuse or ten once he saw this.

Amazing. Simply amazing.

And then he heard: "What the hell is that?!

Wheeljack cringed. He had been discovered. The dominant species of this planet were called _Homo sapiens_, humans; bipedal, organic creatures, average lifespan of 80 to 100 years, sentient and probably largely unaware of the Autobot presence on their planet. Optimus Prime had probably insisted that standard stealth operating procedures be followed, because.. Ah yes, it seemed a large majority of the population did not believe in the existence of life on other planets.

How narrow-minded of them.

The universe was so mind-blowingly _HUGE_! How could they possible think that they were only form of intelligent life out there?!

"It's a freakin' giant robot!" someone shouted. "That is so wicked!"

The shout was drawing a number of others out of the surrounding buildings, Wheeljack saw. He also saw that he was boxed in by the buildings. He was going to have to crawl over them in order to get away and he had to do that without flattening the locals.

"Omigod! It wrecked the auditorium!" came a higher-pitched yell.

"Sorry about that!" Wheeljack said to them, much to their shock, and he used the second or two after that to scale the building, dropping down on the other side. Sitting in rows on a stretch of smooth black rock with yellow lines -- _parking lot, tarmac, parking spots_ -- were some ground-based vehicles -- _cars _-- and a few of them registered as suitable alt-modes. Wheeljack's trans-scanner landed on the first one. He scanned it and then transformed, taking care to position himself in one of the empty parking spots.

From the doorway in the front of the building came a few of the humans, flashing small hand-held lights around. Curious, Wheeljack listened to what they were saying.

"Where'd it go? Where'd that thing go?! one was asking in an exasperated and somewhat panicky tone. A brief scan and a quick comparison to the data he'd downloaded revealed that this was a femme. Three of the members of the group were femmes; similar in build to Autobot femmes and able to carry a developing life. What intrigued Wheeljack was that one of the femmes was, in fact, carrying a life; a fetus, it was called. The fetus, apparently, was only five weeks developed. The femme still had 31 weeks to go before the fetus would be fully developed. Interesting.

And the other two members of the group were.. males. Men. Boys. Guys. Did they _have_ to have so many words for the same thing?

"How could something_that_ big get away so fast?" one of the males was asking, sweeping his light across the parking lot. 

The femme who had spoken glared at the male.

"Maybe if you hadn't insisted on grabbing the flashlights, we coulda seen where it went!" she said, shaking her flashlight at him in a threatening manner.

"Hey, you saw how big that thing was!" the second male said defensively. "I didn't wanna go after it without being able to see it!"

"It probably hid somewhere." one the other femmes spoke up, moving her light over the trees on the other side of the parking lot. 

"I don't think we're gonna find it." the third and pregnant femme said, shaking her head. "Let's go back inside, Jenna. I wanna sleep and I've got this horrible craving for some oranges right about now."

"No way!" the first femme, "Jenna", said quickly. "**You** can go back inside, but I'm gonna find whatever that thing was."

"Suit yourself Jen, but I'm with Steph here on this one." the first male said. "That last exam was murder. I just wanna chill now, giant robot or no. See you tomorrow."

And he headed back inside. The second male followed.

"Good luck out here Jenna." the second femme offered before she and her companion disappeared back indoors. Jenna snorted and started her search.

Wheeljack waited until the femme was out of sight before he started to move, slowly, as to not attract attention. As interesting as this planet was -- with all the organic life it contained -- he would feel a little better when he contacted Prowl and finally reached the rest of the Autobots. The science-y stuff could wait for a little later, when he was safe back among the ranks.


	7. Chpt6: The Sound of Waves

**A/N:** A logic-driven tactician? Check. A mad scientist? Check. A hyperactive Decepticon? Check. A grumpy police car? Check. A short-spoken communications officer? Check. All systems go.

A note on alt-modes: As the story progresses, it's going to become obvious that I know squat about cars and whatnot, and my brain does not retain such information easily. Hence the reason I gave Prowl and Wheeljack the alt-modes I did. Basically, I chose "upgraded" versions of their old G1 alt-modes. Example: Tracks was a Chevy Corvette C3 in G1 and if he shows up in this story, he would be a Chevy Corvette C5. Or if I couldn't find an "upgraded" version, I stayed with the makers. Wheeljack is still a Lancia, but he's not a Lancia Stratos Turbo. He's something a little less obvious. I mean, Wheeljack, it's great that you were a shiny, completely street-illegal racecar, but that doesn't fit with the whole "robots in disguise" thing. Except in the cases of Prowl and Sunstreaker. With them, I went retro. I like the appearence of both their alt-modes, but that's not the only reason I gave Sunny a Lamborghini Countach alt-mode. The Gallardo and Reventon are as shiny as hell, but you're more likely to see a Countach on the road. And yes, I have seen a Countach on the road. And I'm surrounded on all sides by corn and soybean fields.

I also tried to stay within the confines of the geography and location and what could be found there. Honestly, what are the odds of finding a Reventon in the middle of Nevada? No, you're more likely to find that in the L.A. area. What about a Datsun? That's a Japanese-made car and Prowl hit the Long Island Sound. Or what about a racecar in Cambridge? Wheeljack smashed into Harvard University and grabbed the first thing his trans-scanner approved of. I did my best to make the choices believable according to location and likelihood of being seen in said location.

So that's my reasoning. Just want to make sure you lot understand where I'm coming from before you say anything.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Six: The Sound of Waves

* * *

Every comm. was standing wide open and each Autobot was leaning forward expectantly, just a bit. Sam had felt the slight shift in balance, being perched on Bee's shoulder and all. Beside him, Miles gripped his shoulder and the metal beneath him tighter, not used to being at least 18 feet off the ground with not a lot between him and a long fall. Sam didn't blame his friend. He was still getting used to this himself. On Bee's other shoulder, Sam could hear Mikaela bracing herself and swearing very softly.

They stood waiting for at least ten minutes, in which there was an aching silence. Then, his massive shoulders slumping, Optimus turned, perhaps to tell them to pack it up for the night and head back into the base; they might have to wait for a bit, but his optics suddenly got very wide and just as suddenly turned his back, two fingers pressing into the side of his head; in the same way Sam had seen those people at the supermarket do with their Bluetooth cockroach-lookin' things in their ear. Each Autobot leaned to the side slightly, tilting their heads in a remarkably human gesture; recognizing that their leader was receiving a transmission over his private comm line and were only one step away from mobbing him for information.

But they remained patient. Mostly.

At short length, Optimus turned back around, a relieved smile spreading across his faceplates.

"Wheeljack has arrived as well." he said.

There was silence, but only for a second.

And then Ratchet quite calmly said: "Bee's right. We are going to need a new base."

"_And a friendly 'hello' to you too Ratchet._" spoke a new, somewhat exasperated voice, seemingly right of Optimus's left arm. "_I go saving Prowl's sorry aft and he doesn't thank me and then end up crashing somewhere that's overrun with the locals -- one of whom is looking for me right now, actually -- and the only 'hello' I get is from the big guy._"

"Hi 'Jack." Jazz said loudly and pointedly.

Talk from there descended into a series of clicks and grunts and various other mechanical noises that Sam took to be the Autobots' native language. The newcomer sounded vaguely annoyed; it was difficult to tell over the comm link. Ratchet seemed to be a mixture of annoyed and happy. Ironhide was gruff, like usual. Bee only offered a few words; mindful that he had put his vocal processor under enough strain for the day, and Jazz seemed to be interrogating the newcomer; the questioning tone clearly heard in his speech. Optimus couldn't seem to get a word in edgewise and was momentarily resigned to letting his comrades chatter away.

Apparently feeling left out, LG stood perched on Miles's right shoulder, shrieking away and deafening Miles in one ear until the blonde teen grabbed the mini-mech off his shoulder and forcibly shoved it back into Sam's pants pocket. LG squawked indignantly and lashed out at Miles's hand. Sam made a mental note to try and keep LG and Miles separated for the next few weeks. Like it was with Mojo, it was clear that the two probably weren't going to get along very well for a while.

At length, the conversation died away and Optimus turned to the humans, looking perplexed.

"Do any of you recognize the location 'Currier House'?" he asked.

While the others shook their heads, Sam frowned. He had heard that before. He knew he had, but just where--

"Wait, 'Currier House' as in the Harvard Campus? The Quad?" he asked, frowning deeper still.

There was a pause before the reply came.

"_I think so._"

"And the person looking around for you," Sam started. "Wouldn't happen to be a girl with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes, would it? Possibly named 'Jenna'?"

"_...Yes._"

Sam let out a sigh while Miles made a noise of understanding.

"You're in Cambridge, Massachusetts." Sam told the newcomer in a deadpan. "And you're being stalked by my older sister."

"You have a sister?" Mikaela asked, leaning around Bee's head to get a better look at her boyfriend.

"Yeah, and she's this total overachiever." Sam said, looking annoyed and disgruntled at the same time; a remarkable feat, seeing as the only person who had so far displayed such expressive skills was Ratchet. "Valedictorian. Class president. Even got skipped right over 3rd grade."

Clearly Sam had spent much of his life feeling overshadowed by his freakishly overachieving older sister.

"_...Optimus? Is that one of the natives who was just talking?_" The newcomer's voice sounded entirely too eager for its own good. Letting go of a gust of air that was supposed to be the Autobot version of a sigh, Optimus transferred two fingers back to the side of his head, indicating that he had switched back to the private line and suddenly, Ironhide and Bumblebee seemed very eager to hustle their human friends back to the base for the night.

* * *

"_...Tranquility, Nevada. 41 degrees north, 118 degrees west, roughly. There are plenty of well-traveled roads and the GPS satellites haven't failed us yet. You shouldn't get lost._"

"_Thanks, Prime. I'll pick up Prowl along the way, if I can find him. He doesn't seem to be answering his comm._"

"_You both came down in the same general vicinity. But he was being pursued by the Decepticon triple-changers. He may be maintaining radio silence as a precaution._"

"_Maybe, but unlikely. If my bomb didn't outright fry their circuits, then they're not going anywhere fast. Either way, it's three less 'Cons that we have to worry about for a while._"

"_Indeed. And while I'm thinking about it, you wouldn't happen to have heard from Sideswipe at all, have you?_"

"_Hmm... Nope, I haven't heard anything from either of the Twins. Why, is there a problem?_"

"_Yes. We have Sunstreaker with us, but not Sideswipe._"

"_That is a problem. Well, when I run into Prowl, I'll ask him if he's seen Sideswipe._"

"_Thank you. Sunstreaker is becoming insufferable with his questions whenever he's awake. I think this may be the longest time the Twins have ever been separated and it is really starting to show._"

"_Thanks for the heads-up, Prime. By the way, this is a great planet._"

"_Indeed. I have thoroughly enjoyed the time we've spent here._"

"_Are we gonna be staying?_"

"_I imagine that we are going to be calling this planet 'home' before the year is out._"

"_Good. I can't wait to get a little in-depth studying done on organic life._"

"_Only you Wheeljack._"

"_What's that supposed to mean? Never mind. ETA: a week or thereabouts. Good to hear from you._"

"_Good to hear from you too, old friend. Prime out._"

* * *

--Thurs. June 21st--

It was a calm summer night in Bridgeport, Connecticut.

Bridgeport was usually fairly calm most days anyways. When you ignored the fact that meteor had crashed into the Long Island Sound just last night and a few reports had gone up about some giant robot roaming the city streets at 3:00 a.m. The police had passed these reports off as hallucinations of a drunken idiot, given the late hours and whatnot.

But the funny thing was, nothing had turned up at the crash site when the authorities had dove in to investigate. Even then, it didn't take very long at all for the police to pass it off as some kind of elaborate hoax and life continued as normal.

However, some of the smart/paranoid people noticed that a second meteor had apparently destroyed south wall of the Harvard Quad auditorium and that there was giant robot involved in that one as well.

However, no one believed drunken college students celebrating the end of their exams.

But anyways, it was late enough at night that most sane people should have been in bed by this time, but a group of six teenagers-- six drunken teenagers, were wending a weaving path back home. They were still reasonably coherent, though they couldn't walk a straight line anymore and would fail any tests if the cops caught them.

"Couldn't kick us out!" one of them hiccupped, shaking a fist in the general direction of the bar they had just been thrown out of. "Weren't doin' nothing bad. Stupid motherf--"

"No swearing!" another one interrupted, leaning over to punch his fellow in the arm and missed by a few inches. The others laughed as he stumbled right onto the hood of a car parked on the curb. "Sorry dude."

Then the colors of the car registered in his swilled brain.

"Copper! It's a copper!" he shouted in fear, staggering back from the black and white car.

The engine revved menacingly; the car surging forwards at the boys. Currently lacking common sense, the boys screamed and ran in all directions, scattering to various parts of town. The police car revved out of its parking spot and sped after the boy who had initially landed on its hood.

"Sorry! Sorry man! I'll pay for that!" the poor teen shouted, on the verge of wetting his pants.

In a desperate bid for escape, he tore down an alley barred halfway by a chain-link fence. Despite the number of drinks he had ingested, he scaled the fence and hit the ground on the other side running. The police car's engine revved one more time, as if to shout: "You'd better run!"

If the teenager had been sober, he might have noticed that the police car was from Las Vegas, Nevada and not Bridgeport, Connecticut. He also might have noticed that the words on the side of the car did not say 'To protect and serve', but rather 'To punish and enslave'.

He might have at least noticed that there hadn't been anyone _driving_ the police car, but some things were just too much to hope for.

Barricade wasn't supposed to be tormenting the stupid little fleshies right now, but he'd gotten bored and the annoying human had landed on his hood. There was going to be a grease mark left; he just knew it. Besides, it was fun.

Megatron was gone and Starscream had fled, presumably to round up reinforcements and Primus only knew when he would be coming back; **if** he would be coming back. There was every chance he had just turned tail and ran without looking over his shoulder. As it stood now, Barricade was the only really functional Decepticon left on this mushy planet. He had not participated in the final battle, not after seeing Bonecrusher get completely shanked by Optimus Prime. There was no way in the Pit was he going to subject himself to that.

So Barricade had doubled back and headed to the Hoover Dam; the last known location of Frenzy. He simply had to retrieve the crazy little cassetticon or else Soundwave would be very, very angry with him.

Soundwave did not loan out his precious cassettes to anyone -- barring Megatron, that is -- and he certainly did not do it lightly. He did not trust that his fellow Decepticons would take proper care of any of them and usually threatened some painful disembowelment/dismemberment. Knowing this -- he'd gotten the long and, in his opinion, completely unnecessary speech -- Barricade had picked up Frenzy from the Dam, repaired the cassetticon to the best of his abilities, and had then sent a message off to Soundwave, knowing that his fellow Decepticon would pick it up easily and probably come running. True to Barricade's thoughts, Soundwave had responded almost immediately, demanding a rendezvous point and had spent the next three weeks radioing in to report his status and location every three or four hours.

Barricade was still not pleased with Frenzy's current condition -- he was more incoherent than before and Barricade hoped that Soundwave could do something about that; the Saleen wouldn't admit it, but he'd grown somewhat attached to the skittering little hacker -- but he supposed that it could have been a lot worse. After all, Frenzy could have been dead.

Barricade made his way to the rendezvous point, Frenzy babbling up an incoherent storm and bouncing all over the back seat like he had ingested far too much coffee.

"Frenzy! Stop that!" Barricade snapped, swerving wildly across the road, somewhat disappointed that he was only car on this stretch of pavement. The cassetticon smacked into the rear window, his landing spot off by a just few inches.

"D-Don'ttt t-tell-lm-me-ee-e wh-wha-aat-tt to-odo-o-o-dodo-odooo-o-- zkk!!" Frenzy snapped back, making a rude face at the Saleen's steering wheel and sticking up both his middle fingers. "Fffrraag ooffff! Yyy-ou'rrre nnnot my crrreee-aatoorrr!"

The Decepticon sighed internally. Every time he had told Frenzy to stop doing something, the cassette always replied with that. The hacker was starting to feel the separation anxiety that came from being apart from his siblings and creator for too long.

And speaking of storms, there was one rolling in right now. Barricade could almost smell the electricity gathering in the atmosphere. He really hoped Soundwave had arrived with no trouble. Frenzy would get depressed if his creator didn't arrive at the appointed time with the rest of the cassettes and a depressed Frenzy usually led to a bored Frenzy which inevitably led to Frenzy wanting to cause all sorts of trouble which included causing Barricade to have a massive headache.

Nonetheless, Barricade swung into the empty parking lot and waited, his engine idling for a moment or two before he decided to turn it off. There was no point in wasting unnecessary energy. He would probably be back to fighting the Autobots at random moments sometime in the near future and it wouldn't do to be dead tired.

"Rurumble." Frenzy piped up suddenly and pressed his face against the window. His hands fiddled with the door handle, trying to wrench it open. After watching Frenzy struggle with it for a moment, Barricade took some pity on the cassetticon and released the door catch. Frenzy bolted out and across the black tarmac of the parking lot, heedless of the gathering storm.

Meanwhile, Barricade transformed to standard-mode, deeming it safe to do so, as his scanners detected no conscious organic life within a five-mile radius. Just because Frenzy could somehow go completely unnoticed on an air-strip overrun with authority fleshies worried about their pathetic nation leader did not mean that Barricade could.

The air overhead did a sudden **whoosh!**, blowing a scattering of discarded burger wrappers and brown crunchy leaves; leftovers from the previous fall that managed to avoid becoming compost. Something flickered on the edge of his sensors and Barricade looked up. There was something blue and gray silhouetted against the black clouds and judging from the way Frenzy was acting, that was Soundwave overhead.

_Right on time._

The blue-gray shape in the air shifted and resolved itself into the recognizable form of the 3rd in command of the Decepticon army. Well, technically now 2nd in command in the wake of Megatron's destruction. Barricade felt a shot of disappointment that he didn't get to see Soundwave's alt-mode.

The blue mech landed with an earth-jarring thud in front of Barricade, the pavement cracking and splitting. Frenzy was on the Communications Officer in seconds, crawling all over him and spasming out enthusiastic greetings. Ignoring Barricade, Soundwave opened the compartment right beneath his chassis and released the rest of his cassettes, all of whom happily steam-rolled Frenzy in their rush to welcome him back to the fold. He wasn't having that sort of reunion anywhere near his spark.

"Frenzy's status: injured." Soundwave intoned in his usual monotone. His optics narrowed on the transformed Saleen. "Repairs: shoddy."

Barricade glanced across the parking lot where Frenzy was twittering madly to his ecstatic twin Rumble; practically jumping around, no doubt relating his adventures on this sorry mudball of an excuse for a planet. Ravage looked supremely unconcerned, as only a feline-type mech could; Ratbat was hanging on to the hacker's every word and coming dangerously close to getting hit upside the head every time Frenzy merely moved; Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were wisely edging back to avoid being whacked by one of Frenzy's flying fists.

Truth be told, it was difficult to tell the Frenzy had even gotten his entire head lopped off by his own weapons. There was only a faint seam running down the middle of his head and one wouldn't notice it unless they were looking very closely. But this was Soundwave and he knew his cassettes inside and out. So of course he would be able to tell.

"I did the best I could under the circumstances." Barricade said defensively. "At least he is still functioning."

"True." Soundwave conceded, his expression unreadable under the mask and visor. "Megatron's defeat?"

"True as well." Barricade said, crossing his arms. "Obviously Starscream's jumped on the position of command again."

"Megatron is not dead." Soundwave said assuredly. "He will return."

_Not if I have anything to say about it._ Thought someone parked on the edge of the lot. That someone was an Autobot, Prowl.

Prowl was currently sitting in the disguise of a 1969 Chevrolet Impala, police car version, newly restored thanks to his trans-scanner, acquired not long after crawling out of the Long Island Sound.

Optimus had failed to mention just how _organic_ this planet was, even if there was a fair amount of technology lurking around. Prowl had been dripping water for half a day and much to his disgust, a few dead fish had dropped out of his undercarriage. A rotten fishy smell was still lingering, much to the displeasure of his olfactory sensors.

He was also having trouble accessing the satellites to determine both his position and where that was in relation to the rest of the Autobots. He suspected his dip in the cold water had shorted out a few circuits here and there; just enough to cause him a real headache. He wasn't exactly sure what had all been damaged, but he was absolutely certain that he was not going to like it when he found out.

He being an eavesdropper on this meeting between the two Decepticons had been entirely unexpected and unplanned. All he had been doing was taking a nap with the intention of getting right back up to continue searching for Wheeljack. But then, here came Barricade -- _And it's "To protect and serve" you slagger._ -- with Frenzy in tow, waking him out of the short recharge. He'd stiffened when Soundwave had followed shortly thereafter in a flying alt-mode, unusual for a communications officer. Prowl promptly squished any excitement that he might have felt -- convinced that he had spent far too long on his own -- settled in to listen to what the Decepticons were talking about. It would not due to get caught by the six cassettes that were practically frolicking on the tarmac about halfway between the Decepticons and himself, until he gleaned some useful and possibly crucial information that might have to be relayed to Prime at the first opportunity.

"Transmissions from Starscream?" Soundwave was asking now.

"As far as I'm aware, he's been off the planet for a while now." Barricade replied, sounding sour. "Why? Is he coming back?"

There was a noticeable note of contempt in the Decepticon's voice. Prowl knew that Starscream wasn't greatly liked by his comrades. Something about frequent bids for power if his memory circuits weren't faulty.

"Transmission from Starscream: received and ignored." Soundwave stated. "Your transmission: priority number one."

"I feel honored." Barricade said dryly. "You just wanted Frenzy back."

"Trust for you: limited." Soundwave informed him.

"You don't trust anyone with your _precious_ cassettes." Barricade said snidely. Soundwave made a 'humph'ing noise, but otherwise said nothing. Prowl strained not to lean closer for a better listen. He'd never heard of Soundwave voluntarily loaning out his cassettes to anyone other than Megatron. He was simply too protective of them. He _had_ created them after all.

"Ooooh... Wha-at'ss thi-this?" Rumble asked, sounding very close by. He was virtually indistinguishable from his twin, save for his red optics and considerably less stuttering speech patterns.

Prowl realized in horror that the cassetticon was poking his back fender; like a youngling fascinated by a shiny object.

"F-fun-nny-yener-nergy re-re-rea-rreadi-ingssss. Faam-mili-iar... " Frenzy hissed, skittering up beside his twin with the rest of the cassettes lingering in the background. Something in the cassette's processor buzzed and he said the one thing Prowl had been praying he wouldn't say.

"Autobo-ott-zkk! H-Here-re! S-sspyiing!-- Jaa!-- Auto-too-tobot!--"

Barricade and Soundwave looked around at Frenzy's shout. More or less caught, Prowl transformed to standard-mode before the two nutso cassettes could sharpen their claws on his armor. Barricade snarled as the Autobot revealed himself and charged up his main guns.

"Attack!" Soundwave barked out, rarely-heard anger seeping into his monotone voice.

"Bring it." Prowl dared, making a 'come on' motion with one hand.

So the Decepticons brought it.

Right then, Prowl realized that he was rather-- er, outnumbered.

Eight Decepticons against one Autobot.

The odds of winning were quickly computed and he realized that said odds were definitely not in his favor.

And he was still sporting the damages from his run-in with the triple-changers.

"Uh... No way."

And he ran.

Of course, the Decepticons weren't about to give up on a good fight, so they gave chase.

Prowl ran through the city streets. Since a fight was inevitable, he didn't exactly want to be responsible for crushing recharging humans. He felt it best to get away from the town completely.

Not that Barricade let him.

The Decepticon launched himself at the Autobot, shoving him into a shopping center; glass and metal shattered with a squealing sort of crash. Prowl struggled to stand, but Barricade punched him across the faceplates. Prowl retaliated and pinned Barricade to ground.

"Give me one good reason to disconnect your head from your body." Prowl said.

Barricade smacked him across the faceplates again, throwing him onto yet another shopping center.

"Good enough for me." Prowl muttered and tackled the Decepticon. He possessed the upper hand for a five mere seconds until Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat saw fit to dive-bomb him and Barricade took advantage of his momentary distraction and kicked him onto a third shopping center.

A tactical withdrawal was seriously in order here. Even without the mostly non-combative Soundwave, the Autobot was still grossly outnumbered. And the cassetticons were small annoying-- things that could get just about anywhere.

Prowl switched back to alt-mode to seek out a better fighting arena. Barricade did the same, Rumble and Frenzy clinging to his hood and laughing insanely. They swerved through the roads at speeds that definitely weren't street-legal for this setting and anyone looking out their windows couldn't figure out what had happened to the giant robots from earlier; why a large robot cat was rushing down the street, looking disgruntled; or why an out-of-state cop car with strange little metal gremlins on the hood was chasing another cop car that was local.

Tires screaming in protest, Prowl swerved around another car, a 2003 dark gray Lancia Thesis that had lurched suddenly out of an alley.

"Watch it slag-heap!" the Autobot couldn't help throwing out. He had no desire to end up as a crunchy metal pancake when there was a Decepticon slagger on his aft.

"Watch who you're calling a slag-heap Prowl!" the Lancia sniped back, causing Prowl to nearly T-bone himself on a lamp post. The Lancia kept pace beside him while he straightened himself out and rummaged around frantically in his memory banks, searching for the owner of the voice, as it was one he'd heard only briefly before the mass exodus from Cybertron and switched over to the private comm.

"_Whe-- Wheeljack?_" he stuttered in surprise. He had not factored an ally into the equation.

"_The one and only!_" Wheeljack replied brightly, full of glee to find a friendly face. "_I would have contacted you when I got here, but there were some technical difficulties and a small problem with the locals. So, who's that chasing us?_"

"_Barricade._"

"_With Rumble and Frenzy on top?_"

"_Yes._"

"_I presume Soundwave and the rest aren't too far behind?_"

"_You presume correctly._"

"_Slag..._" Prowl got the impression that Wheeljack would have been shaking his head had he not been in alt-mode. "_One day here and_ _we've already gotten into a fight with Decepticons._"

"_No, I got into a fight with Decepticons._" Prowl corrected. "_You just stuck your nose in._"

Wheeljack didn't get the opportunity to respond because Prowl had decided that they had reached an appropriate fighting arena that was far enough away from the humans; the beach. The Impala hit the brakes, sending his front end around to where his back end should have been and transformed. Wheeljack followed suit. Prowl like the odds a little better now. Barricade transformed on the fly and went after Wheeljack first, grappling with the newcomer. Taking advantage of the fact that it was now two-on-one, Prowl seized Barricade from behind and proceeded to pry him off.

Jibbering unintelligibly, Rumble and Frenzy unleashed a small volley of their own weapons -- shuriken-like CDs -- at the two Autobots in an attempt to assist the overwhelmed Barricade. Unfortunately, the backside of any mech did not contain anything truly vital, and the weapons only dinged harmlessly off the metal plates.

It was times like these where Barricade wished the Cassetticons were more effective in combat and/or that Soundwave -- who was now standing behind the motionless Ravage -- actually got off the sidelines and fought. He wouldn't be so outnumbered if that was so.

"Soundwave!" Barricade hollered, attempting to throw off Wheeljack so he could properly deal with Prowl. "Soundwave, get off your aft and help me!"

But Soundwave remained the silent, looming figure behind Ravage.

Barricade cursed rather loudly and violently.

"You need a lesson in manners!" Prowl decided, heaving the Decepticon away from his partner and dragging him towards the Long Island Sound.

"Get your hands off me, filthy Pit-scum!" Barricade spat, struggling mightily to get away from the water. He did _**not **_want to end up in there.

"Wheeljack, give me a hand over here." Prowl requested, having a hard time holding the Decepticon still.

"Sure thing."

Wheeljack grabbed Barricade's flailing arm -- the one with the cannon on it -- that Prowl hadn't been able to contain, and they prepared to toss the Decepticon into the nice cold water of the Sound.

"For Primus's sake Soundwave! Are you going to help me or not?!" Barricade roared, craning his neck over his shoulder. Rumble and Frenzy had fallen back, red and blue optics, respectively, fixated on the scene before them as though this was some amusing show. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ratbat were circling overhead but otherwise doing nothing, and Ravage was still silent at Soundwave's feet.

No, he wasn't going to be getting any help from them.

Pit-fragging, Primus-forsaken slaggers.

Prowl and Wheeljack tossed Barricade deep into Long Island Sound. He hit with a mighty splash and with much thrashing, sank quickly, because not very many mechs were buoyant. They turned to the rest of the Decepticons, as if to say: 'You want a piece of us?'

Soundwave raised a hand and five of the cassettes withdrew, disappearing into the darkness. Ravage stayed to glare at them a moment longer, before turning and following his comrades.

Prowl and Wheeljack exchanged a high-five, ignoring Barricade who was blubbering out there somewhere in the Sound, fighting to stay on the surface and not having much success with the endeavor. With one final defeated "glub" sound, Barricade sank, sulking, beneath the water's surface.

Pleased with their victory, the Autobots grinned at each other. Or rather, Wheeljack grinned and Prowl merely smirked, though it was an extraordinarily smug and self-satisfied smirk.

"Primus, Prowl what happened to your arm?" Wheeljack asked suddenly, seizing the left arm of the SIC. Prowl looked down and noticed for the first time, its blackened and scorched state. His public comm line was probably shot. Now that he had noticed it, the pain kicked in with a vengeance and Prowl hissed softly when the inventor touched the blackened part, gritting his dental plates.

"The triple-changers, I imagine." Prowl replied while Wheeljack surveyed the damage. He was no medic by any means -- that was Ratchet's territory -- but after many, many years of accidentally blowing himself up in the name of science, basic first-aid had been something he'd learned very quickly.

"And thank you, by the way." Prowl added. "For the bomb."

"Anytime." Wheeljack said amiably, turning Prowl's arm left and right to get a full look. "Surface damage mostly, and a shot comm line, among other things." He peered at the SIC curiously. "You've also got fried circuits all over the place."

"I hit the water upon landing." Prowl said blandly, jerking a thumb at the Sound with his free hand.

"That'll do it." Wheeljack muttered distractedly, apparently still engrossed with Prowl's arm. He finally relinquished it after another moment and said: "I know where to find Prime and the others."

"Good. I believe that one of my fried circuits is my communications link." Prowl said, taking a brief examination of his arm himself. "Where are they?"

Wheeljack was about to reply when something large, dark, and incredibly fast swooped in low over their heads. They ducked reflexively as an aircraft shot out over the Sound, more or less, hovering over where Barricade had sunk.

The aircraft had a wedged, wing-shape. It looked like it had been built for speed and stealth. It was sleek and matte black and, most likely, very deadly.

A missile bay opened up on the underside and with a strong suction-force, sucked an alarmed Barricade out of the water, shedding the liquid in every direction. Both Wheeljack and Prowl could see Rumble and Frenzy in the cockpit, laughing manically, shaking their fists, and making unrecognizable but undoubtedly very rude hand gestures at the two Autobots.

The aircraft lifted away from the water, swooping high into the air and streaking off to the west.

"They're that-away." Wheeljack said in a small voice, still somewhat spooked. He pointed in a westerly direction. "'Bout a weeks' travel. Maybe less."

"What are we waiting for?" Prowl asked rhetorically.

Wheeljack jumped back to alt-mode and tried to rev off, but discovered that his tires weren't designed to move over sand.

"On the pavement, Wheeljack." Prowl muttered. He walked off the beach before going back to alt-mode and waited patiently for Wheeljack to get himself off the sand. The Lancia finally managed to join him minutes later and with a purposeful roar of their engines, they set off to the west and to Tranquility, Nevada.


	8. chpt7: Communication

**A/N:** It. Begins. Here.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Seven: Communication

* * *

"_Wheeljack to Ratchet. Hey, you there?_"

"_Loud and clear. Optimus has gone into recharge. What's your status?_"

"_I found Prowl and we're on our way._"

"_What's the damage?_"

"_Heheh... Mostly surface damage. There are some fried circuits 'cause he landed in some cold water and his communications link is out. Public comm link is pretty much shot straight to the Pit. I think his logic processor is fried too. He actually _thanked_ me for using a bomb. No one ever thanks me for that!_"

"_That's because whenever one of your bombs goes off, it tends to take out the allies as well the enemies. But since it was the triple-changers you fragged, I think he has a good reason to be grateful. Have you asked him about Sideswipe's status yet?_"

"_Yeah and he said 'No, I haven't seen him or that Pit-spawn twin of his and if I do, it'll have been too soon.'_"

"_Slag._"

"_I also have some more bad news._"

"_Oh Primus no._"

"_Barricade and Soundwave are heading in your direction._"

"_...Double-slag._"

"_As well as all the cassettes._"

"_Triple-slag!_"

There was a moment of silence.

"_Are you sure it's Soundwave?_"

"_Yep. Cassettes and all. Oh, and Soundwave has a flying alt-mode now. It's a... A B-2 stealth bomber._"

Ratchet groaned.

"_So what's Sunstreaker's status?_"

"_Have you got any supplies on you?_"

"_Some. Why?_"

"_Sunstreaker's a real slagging mess. Primus only knows what sort of trouble he got himself into out there. I can repair most of the damages, but his right leg is the worst. The internal structure's been crushed. The struts between his ankle joint and hip joint are virtually unsalvageable. And I used most of my materials pulling Jazz back together._"

"_What happened to Jazz?_"

"_Megatron damn near tore him in half._"

"_Ouch. What about the terrestrial metal? Can you use that?_"

"_Yeah, but even the strongest takes too long to temper to the right hardness. Everything else is still on the _Ark_, which is up in orbit. Come to think of it, I still need to give Jazz a once-over. I was rushing a bit during his repairs._"

"_Well, I've got some supplies on me. Probably won't be enough to put Sunstreaker's leg back together completely, but it might hold for a while if he stays off it as much as possible._"

"_Good. The sooner I can get him out of my medbay, the better. It's small enough in here._"

"_Right. Well I'll see you in a few days. Tell everyone that I said: 'Hi'._"

"_Give Prowl our regards._"

"_Sure thing. Wheeljack out._"

His internal systems revving almost exhaustedly, Ratchet turned off his comm and sat down on the only other repair berth in the medbay. He'd been recharging on it for the last few weeks. It wasn't the most comfortable place, but it was either here or in the silo in alt-mode and he could only take that for a few days at a time. It was better than trying to recharge when he could hear Optimus muttering off and on in recharge; usually something about Elita. This nightly habit had only been recently acquired and Optimus and Elita were a bonded pair so Ratchet could forgive it. But only until it started cutting into his own recharge time.

It was bad enough just trying to get Jazz to sit still long enough to run a scan.

Yes, Ratchet was still worried the saboteur was going to keel over again. It had been very, very close that last time. So close that the thought still made Ratchet's energon run cold. He didn't want to lose any more good friends. Too many had been lost already.

And this time, he was positive that they had lost the AllSpark for good. Like Primus had taken it back in exchange for Jazz's spark.

It was a reasonable price to pay.

Ratchet was much happier seeing Jazz wreaking havoc on the living than seeing a shattered fragment on an old relic lying in a room gathering dust.

Now if he could just do something about that yellow lump over there...

The medic's weary gaze drifted to Sunstreaker lying on the other berth across the room. Ratchet had removed the yellow twin's right leg for better examination and that was how he found out about the broken struts. Oh, the armor was still salvageable along with the internal wiring, but it was the metal struts that made up the "bone" of the leg that had to be completely scrapped. Too many shards had fallen out before the medic's hands had gotten to it. There would be no point in melting the bone struts to slag and reforming them. He'd be several inches short still and again, too many of the needed supplies were still piled up on the _Ark_.

That would have to be rectified soon.

Sunstreaker's other injuries were healing nicely, though.

It was the warrior's mental state that had the medic worried.

Firstly, Sunstreaker only jerked out of recharge twice a day -- once at noon and then again at six in the evening; on the dot both times. He would remain awake for 45 minutes; long enough to choke down some energon and claim that it tasted absolutely horrid (it really did; they were still working on refining it and not having much success), and drive Ratchet absolutely batty with questions. He constantly asked where Sideswipe was and if he was going to be here soon and what the slag is that thing on your shoulder, Ratchet? (It had been Mikaela the first time, but the second, third and fourth time, there had been nothing there.)

He would wake up again at exactly midnight, though he never seemed to be quite awake at that time, and throw things at Ratchet until he woke up and then ask him (in a quiet, almost fearful voice) if he thought Sideswipe was alright, wherever he was. Since, very, very deep down, Ratchet was really just a great big teddy bear -- though he would put a hacksaw through your CPU and twist violently before he even considered admitting that -- he always gave a positive answer. Sunstreaker would actually smile briefly and then slip back into recharge.

Ratchet knew that Sunstreaker's current attitude was some echo of whatever Sideswipe was going through at the moment; because the state of one twin affected the other. It was also due in part to their long separation. The Twins had never done too well apart from each other for long. Whether he admitted it or not, Ratchet would be at the very least relieved to have the red twin here. Then Sunstreaker would be back to his semi-sociopathic-self. Whatever state Sideswipe was in must be improving, because Sunstreaker was getting snarky again, but even so...

Sideswipe needed to get his shiny metal aft on this planet as soon as possible.

Sunstreaker was _pining_.

Sunstreaker did **not** pine.

And yet he was.

There was only one word for that.

Unnatural.

* * *

"_Soundwave to Starscream._"

"_**YOU!!**__ What are you doing here?!_"

"_Transmission: received. Current location: restricted military area, 28 miles from Reno, Nevada--_"

"_**WHAT?!**__ What in the name of Primus are you doing in squishy military areas?!_"

"_--500 miles from your current location. Alternate mode: B-2 stealth bomber--_"

"_There's only 22 of those! Get a different one! Something ground-based!_"

"_Negative. Current alternate mode is suitable. Status of cassettes: acquiring alternate modes. Stat--_"

"_NO!! Shut up and listen, you! Those Autobots may know that I have returned, but they don't know that I've called the army here! I'm trying to maintain a low profile for the moment and you tooling about in some flashy alt-mode in places where said alt-mode normally isn't seen is going to cause some uproar among the squishies! And if it causes uproar among the squishies, the Autobots hear about it and __**BAM!**__ We lose the element of surprise! And it'll be all your fault!_"

"_Quality of your overall leadership: terrible._"

Static reigned over the comm for a very long time, so Soundwave went on.

"_Status of Science Officer Barricade: recovered from the Long Island Sound. We will rendezvous at your location in two joors._"

"_Fine... And follow stealth protocols! Understand?!_"

"_Understood._"

"_Starscream out._"

Starscream turned off his comm and slammed his head into the wall. He heard it (the wall... he hoped) crack, but he just kept slamming his head into it over and over again.

And behind him...

"'Screamer's mad." Skywarp observed in a low voice.

"It was probably Soundwave." Thundercracker muttered back. "He and Megatron are the only two mechs that can get Starscream riled up that way. And since Megatron's rusting somewhere..."

Skywarp nodded, but then took on a thoughtful, almost hopeful look. "'Fire could too."

He barely got the sentence out before Starscream whipped around and fired a laser. It glanced off Skywarp's arm and hit the wall. Skywarp instinctively ducked to avoid a second bolt that didn't come and he was left peeking up apprehensively at the Aerial Commander, who suddenly looked very tired.

"Starscream? Are you okay?" Thundercracker questioned tentatively.

Retracting the laser back into his arm, Starscream pressed two fingers into the sensitive spots on the sides of his head, just up a little from his optics. Hot air hissed out of his vents, giving the impression that he had just deflated. He shuttered his optics and stood in that position for a moment.

"Yes, I'm fine." he said at length.

"You don't look fine." Skywarp piped up, still crouched on the floor. "You haven't been recharging right since we wailed on that yellow Autobot--"

"Shut up Skywarp!" Starscream barked angrily, fingers still pressed into the sides of his head. "How I recharge is none of your business!"

"I was just sayin' Screamer..." Skywarp muttered, shrugging uncertainly and glancing away.

"_Don't call me that_!" Starscream roared with such ferocity that the black and purple Seeker jumped behind Thundercracker. "_Don't you ever call me that again_!!"

Starscream looked... sort of mad. Not mad as in the pop-a-few-energon-lines-mad-'cause- you're-all-just-slagging-glitches, but more mad as in the _psychotic_-mad. Like he was going to fly into a rage and reduce both of them to smoking piles of scrap.

Thundercracker had never seen his friend act like this before -- certainly not to his fellow Seekers -- and it worried him. Badly.

"Starscream... What's wrong?" the blue Seeker asked, careful to keep his voice even and calm.

"What's wrong? _What's wrong_?!" the Aerial Commander sneered. "I'll tell you what's wrong! It's the incompetence of mechs like you! It's fragging me off! You two can barely follow my orders as it is and Soundwave can't even be bothered to listen to me! **ME!** I am the commander of the Decepticon army! Not Soundwave! And certainly not that scrap-heap Megatron! This army doesn't command itself!"

If Thundercracker had been any less of a mech, he would have been clinging to Skywarp by this time. But Skywarp was already holding tightly to his legs, rendering him unable to even kneel down.

"I'll be in my room." Starscream growled in a much lower voice. "Don't you dare get within ten feet of my door."

With that, he turned and stalked away into the deeper recesses of the appropriated base.

Thundercracker and Skywarp watched him until the Aerial Commander was no longer visible.

"You wanna go for a fly?" the blue Seeker asked his friend.

"Okay." Skywarp replied in an unusually high-pitched voice.

It was only when they were cruising high in the upper levels of the atmosphere did either of them feel safe enough to talk.

"_What do you think's wrong with Screamer?_" Skywarp asked, sounding cautious, as though he thought their commander could hear them all they way up here.

"_Any number of things._" Thundercracker replied dryly. "_Let's see... For one, he hasn't been recharging properly all week._"

"_Yeah, I can hear him getting up and walking around._" Skywarp agreed, rising a little higher on an eddy of air.

"_Two, he's been much more irritable than usual and he's been losing his temper faster._" Thundercracker went on, mentally ticking off the points. "_And what are you doing waking up in the middle of the nights anyways?_"

"_You mean you can't hear him?_" Skywarp asked incredulously.

"_No._"

"_TC, he's been waking up screaming._"

Thundercracker's engines nearly cut out right there in shock.

"_W-What?!_" he sputtered, fighting to climb back up to his previous height.

"_Geez TC, you recharge like a lump of slag._" Skywarp tutted. "_You really can't hear him screaming?_"

"_He's really been waking up screaming?_" Thundercracker asked.

"_Yeah, scared the slag outta me the first time._" Skywarp said, tilting his wings to drop some altitude. "_Went to see what was wrong and he nearly shot my wings off. I think..._"

He trailed off. Alt-mode betrayed nothing in the way of emotion, but Thundercracker had been Skywarp's friend for a very long time and he was an expert when it came to "reading" his friends. Usually. Lately, he'd been unable to "read" Starscream. The Aerial Commander's moods had gotten unpredictable. The only thing Thundercracker had been able to count on was that Starscream would be angry no matter what happened.

"_You don't think he's been..._" Skywarp trailed off again, but he continued almost immediately. "_Dreaming, do you?_"

That brought Thundercracker to a pause. Dreaming was a rare occurrence for any mech. Usually, when one went into recharge, the CPU would automatically run a defrag program to sort out the events of whatever had happened that day. Occasionally, a memory file would be recalled during the defrag process and thus the mech in question would "dream". It was a rare happening, but certainly not unheard of. Thundercracker himself had only "dreamed" twice in his entire life so far and both times had occurred after a particular harrowing event that his CPU had had trouble fully processing. Each time had lasted several night cycles before his processor had come to terms with the events.

But Starscream was clearly being plagued by some past event. Some dusty memory file had been prodded out from some distant part of his CPU and during the defrag process, it would be recalled. He would relive only part of the event before he wrenched himself out of recharge, cutting the defrag process short and not allowing the file to put away. Starscream would continue to relive part of that memory until he could make himself sit it out to the end.

At this rate, he would be refusing to even recharge soon.

And then he would start to break down.

"_TC?_" Skywarp prodded over the comm. Thundercracker jerked to the right a little, drifting up and a bit away.

"_TC, I'm scared._" Skywarp admitted in a small voice, which was more than the blue Seeker could say for himself at the moment.

The black and purple Seeker drifted closer to his friend, close enough to touch wingtips and then immediately fell back into his prior position. Even in a flight as casual as this, they instinctively flew their chosen position in the formation.

There were always four fliers in the v-formation; the flight leader at the point and the second-element leader to his immediate right. To the right of the second-element leader was their wing-mate. On the left side of the flight leader was **their** wing-mate.

Starscream was the flight leader, naturally, and Skywarp was on his left as his wing-mate. Thundercracker stayed on Starscream's right wing, but he was not the second-element leader. That position remained open. Thundercracker had never filled it and he had no desire to.

Starscream had never let any other Seeker be assigned to his squadron and he had never let another Seeker become the second-element leader. Not even Megatron had tried to force that. Starscream had thrown an unholy tantrum to end all tantrums the one and only time Megatron had tried to make the Aerial Commander take on a new recruit to fill the gap.

They had been flying a missing-man formation since they'd entered the Flight Academy and Primus himself couldn't change that.


	9. Chpt8: Stress Fractures

**A/N:** Triumphant laughter! Hah! I'll be dead-honest here. I was _**very**_ worried about the reception the last chapter was going to get, because I know there's a good number of people out there who don't like the Seekers very much at all and this -- ahem -- plot arc is going to turn rather Seeker-heavy, like, with this chapter here. I mean, I was excited to post chpt7, but I knew the way it would be received would effect the way the following chapters are going to be received, so it's very relieving to know that it was well-liked. I just hope that it carries into these next chapters, because these upcoming chapters are the ones that have that soul-eating quality.

Have an open mind for this story, please. The poor thing fell off the beaten path long ago. Some of the ideas in here I have never seen in any _Transformers_ fanfics before and I know new ideas aren't always taken well by the fans. So please, have an open mind and enjoy the story.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Eight: Stress Fractures

* * *

"Y'know... We should really tell Soundwave about the big-aft difference in the time measurements here on Earth." Skywarp commented lightly.

"And talk to him about inconspicuous alt-modes." Thundercracker added.

Starscream had shouted them out the sky several hours ago, commanding them to keep an optic out for Soundwave and then inform the Aerial Commander when the Communications Officer arrived. The only problem was, it hadn't yet occurred to Soundwave that Earth had drastically different time measurements than on Cybertron. Two joors in Cybertronian measurement encompassed roughly an entire solar cycle, or one day, on Earth.

Barricade, on the other hand, had turned up after what he claimed was about seven hours of travel and asked the Seekers if they could refrain from bothering him because after getting knocked around by a set of Autobots and unceremoniously hauled around in a cramped missile bay after being sucked out of some 60 feet of cold water and not really getting the opportunity to dry off, he just wanted to get some recharge time in.

It was currently creeping up on the middle of the day and there was still no Soundwave to be seen. Not that they complained, really. The two Seekers were laying flat on their backs in the warm sand, content to soak up the heat of Utah's Great Salt Lake Desert outside their commandeered military base. The sky was very clear and it was a perfect day for flying. Of course, as soon as things were flattened out and Starscream didn't need them around, they were heading back into the air.

"Personally, I think I'll be happy to have someone around who isn't already halfway insane." Thundercracker went on with a slight shrug.

"Hey! Takes one to know one, you jerk!" Skywarp retorted, cuffing the blue Seeker's wing. "You're halfway insane too!"

"And it's your fault." Thundercracker informed him.

Skywarp took offense at that and a small scuffle ensued. Thundercracker would have won it hands down if Skywarp hadn't decided to teleport away and pop out of the air right over him. Thus the blue Seeker was crushed under the weight of the black and purple Seeker.

"Give up TC?"

"Get off me! I'm getting sand up my intakes!"

Skywarp grinned, but it disappeared when he looked down at his friend's wings.

"Yo, did you get a heat rash or something?" he asked, running a finger lightly over the blistered metal. Thundercracker stiffened beneath him.

"That hurts slag-head!" Thundercracker hissed, trying a little harder to throw his friend off.

"Thundercracker, this is cracking." Skywarp said very seriously.

At once, Thundercracker knew that Skywarp wasn't joking because the black and purple Seeker had used his name and not his nickname.

"Is it a heat rash?" Skywarp asked again. "It looks pretty ugly."

"How would I know? I can't even see it." Thundercracker said, rising on his elbows a little and Skywarp knew to get off. "I've had it since we made planet-fall. I don't think I was properly shielded for atmospheric entry." He tried to look over his shoulder. "How bad is it?"

"The blistering's pretty ugly." Skywarp said thoughtfully. "The cracks are tiny, but it'll only get worse if you don't get it treated soon..."

"But we have no medic." Thundercracker pointed out. "It's not like I can just go the Autobots' medic, hold him at gunpoint and demand he fix this for me."

"You could."

"That's suicide, 'Warp."

"Okay, hold on. I might have something."

Skywarp went digging through his subspace compartments, unearthing all sorts of odd and ends, including an energon canister clearly stamped with the mark of the Iacon Lyceum; where they had gone to school before entering the Flight Academy. Thundercracker knew that Skywarp had packrat tendencies, but keeping something like **that** for as long as he had was nothing short of ridiculous.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. It was a small tub of salve; specifically for treating heat rash.

"It's sorta outta date, but it should still work." the Seeker said, unscrewing the lid to see if the paste was still good. A familiar smell smacked into their olfactory sensors, sending them running for cover (metaphorically speaking). "Ew, it still smells the same."

"Sure brings back memories." Thundercracker said, waving a hand in front of his face to drive away the smell.

"Yeah, slathering this stuff on Screamer's wings just 'cause he wouldn't listen to the instructors." Skywarp muttered, frowning over the memories of their flight leader moaning dramatically about how much his wings hurt after he had refused to listen to their instructors on the proper procedure for atmospheric entry and then paying for it dearly later. It had been his own damn fault and he'd gotten what was coming to him, yet he had still driven them on the fritz with his complaints.

Thundercracker turned around so his back was to Skywarp.

"Slap it on, will you? I can't reach back there."

Skywarp slapped a glob of salve onto one of the ailing wings.

"_OW_!! Take it easy you glitch!"

"Oh bitch-moan! You're a Seeker! Suck it up!"

"Why do you still have an energon canister from the Lyceum anyways?"

Skywarp suddenly stopped mid-smear and remained silent.

"Skywarp?" Thundercracker questioned after the silence stretched on for much longer than a minute.

"That was the last one." he said at length, hesitantly. "The last one from... Y'know, as a group..."

Whatever Thundercracker had planned on saying next abruptly died. It occurred to him that maybe they both knew exactly what was bothering Starscream so badly, but before he could say anything about it, their comms crackled and Soundwave announced his arrival within two breems.

"You think he means 'bout 15 minutes Earth time?"

"Probably."

"_Thundercracker to Starscream._"

"_**WHAT?!**_"

Thundercracker flinched when his comm snarled with feedback. "_Soundwave is approaching. ETA: 15 minutes._"

"_15 minutes?! What's he doing?! Doesn't he know that--_"

"_He hasn't quite grasped the severe time difference yet._" Thundercracker interrupted, flinching again but this time it was because Skywarp hit a particularly sore patch on his left wing.

"_...Oh..._"

Then there was static. Thundercracker rolled his optics and shut off his comm. Honestly, it seemed that if Starscream had nothing to yell about, then he had nothing at all to say. Either way, the silence was a welcome change.

10 minutes later, Starscream emerged from the main part of the base, blinking in the sunlight he hadn't expected to be so bright. He winced when a brief pain lanced across his head. There was a funny whistling noise in his audials but he couldn't figure out where it was coming from.

Those two slaggers he called wing-mates were nowhere in sight, but Soundwave was. He was still a dark shape in the sky lacking much in the way of form, but he was coming.

Starscream let out an involuntary growl when he remembered that the Communications Officer had a _flying_ alt-mode. Communications Officers were not supposed to have flying alt-modes. Soundwave was **not **a Seeker nor was he a triple-changer. He should not be flying. He should be ground-based and that was that.

_So much for stealth protocols, you virus-ridden glitch!_ Starscream fumed, watching the mass become more defined into the wedged, wing-shape that was exclusive to the stealth bombers.

Landing gear extended, the bomber touched down on the long runaway, bouncing slightly on its shocks before settling and slowing down. Starscream noticed with some satisfaction that Soundwave wasn't particularly smooth on the landings and his take-offs were probably equally shoddy.

The Communications Officer slowed almost to a halt before transforming. It was sort of choppy; evidence that the alt-mode was quite newly acquired. The transformation was completed and Starscream suddenly remembered that Soundwave towered over him by a good few feet.

"Starscream." Soundwave acknowledged the Aerial Commander with a brief nod.

"Soundwave. Was the trip pleasant?" Starscream asked with a sort of sneering politeness. Another inexplicable flash of pain shot through his head, but he smothered it so that all was visible was a twitch in his right optic.

"Satisfactory." Soundwave said in his typical blunt monotone.

"Glad to hear it." Starscream said, feeling nothing the sort. He wouldn't have been disappointed to hear that Soundwave had been zapped by lightning on the way over.

"Details of Megatron's defeat." Soundwave requested without preamble.

"_Destruction_." Starscream corrected gleefully, crossing his arms. The word was like honey or some really damn good high-grade. "Megatron was _destroyed_ by a squishy worm. Just shows how strong he _really_ was."

"Details." Soundwave repeated. His voice didn't rise one notch, but there was definitely a demanding undertone there.

"A human shoved the AllSpark right into his spark and _destroyed_ him." Starscream elaborated haughtily. Yeah, it was more like some damn good high-grade. "He was overloaded and fried. Now he's rusting at the bottom of the ocean. So much for your precious _leader_. Now I'm--"

"The leader of the Decepticons!" cut in Thundercracker and Skywarp's voices mockingly. They were standing just out of range, standing in ridiculously exaggerated poses and mimicking Starscream.

"All bow down before me!" they went on in unison. Clearly this had been rehearsed several times before. "For I am all-powerful and you're all just a bunch of slagging worms who don't even deserve to lick my boots!"

Somewhere inside Soundwave's chest compartment, Rumble and Frenzy could be heard cackling madly.

Starscream opened his mouth to yell at them and quite possibly turn his null rays loose on their afts for disrespecting him like that, but a third lance of pain cut across his head and he couldn't cover it up this time. He clutched his head, a strangled grunt escaping his vocalizer. Thundercracker and Skywarp instantly abandoned their exaggerated mockery of him (honestly, he wasn't _that_ bad...) and were at his side.

"Get away from me!" he shouted, throwing an arm out to shove them away. "I don't need your help!"

"Why don't you go back inside..." Skywarp suggested, undeterred by the smacking limb and steering the Aerial Commander around to push him back inside.

"I said, get away from me!" Starscream snapped angrily. That whistling noise was so annoying. Couldn't they hear it?

"I just need to clear my head." he muttered, half to himself, wrenching himself free of his wing-mates and quickly walking away. A few sprinting steps and he pushed himself aloft, transforming quickly. Engines burning, he took off into the air, leaving the base behind and disappearing into the blue sky.

Back on the ground, the two Seekers exchanged worried looks.

Then Thundercracker turned to Soundwave to fill him in.

* * *

Secretary of Defense John Keller couldn't recall the last time he'd been so busy.

In the wake of Mission City Disaster -- as it was known all over the Internet nowadays -- there had been quite a few loose ends to tie off and some of them hadn't been particularly easy to take care of.

Firstly, there had been covering up the destruction itself. The wide-spread and most commonly-believed rumor whispered in the right ears was a war-game gone wrong and secret government experiments on the loose due to said war-game-gone-wrong.

A few stranger people claimed that it was a mass hallucination due to drugs in the water supply, though it certainly didn't explain the destruction.

To discourage further investigation by the paranoid and curious, the government had combed the web and removed as many videos of the fighting robots that they could find. Sure it pissed off a great number of people, but it was small price to pay for making sure that the Autobots were able to live in relative privacy.

Keller had not had any real contact with the Autobots since right after Mission City, when they'd taken refuge briefly in the Hoover Dam to start repairing the damages they had suffered. He had spoken to Optimus Prime about the immediate future; if they had given any thought to what they planned on doing next or where they were going to go. Prime had said that -- if it was alright -- they were probably going to stay in Nevada for the moment. Best to avoid any more uproar by staying in one place and laying low.

So Keller had sent people to scout the northern Nevada area and see what was up there; to see of there was anything the Autobots could use for the time being. They had a ship -- they'd said -- but it was up in orbit around the moon and they had no means of reaching it.

Judging from the communiqués Keller had received via Captain Lennox -- actually "Major"; he'd been promoted due to going above and beyond the call of duty along with the rest of his team and was on leave right now -- the old missile silo, though a bit cramped, would do for the four of them. Prime didn't anticipate that anyone would respond to his transmission right away.

Keller had sweated a bit upon realizing that there were more of these guys out there and that they were going to be coming to Earth. But then he remembered that they had saved Earth from total destruction at the hands of a psychotic, brutal, highly-advanced monster. Allowances could be made.

Now he could just get the President to sign those amnesty papers...

The President, in all his stupid glory, wanted to hold the Autobots fully responsible for the collateral damage and for bringing a war onto American soil. He actually wanted them to pay reparations. It was only due to the combined efforts of Keller, a few other higher-ups and the disbanded threads of Sector Seven, that the President had been unable to follow through.

They were already fighting the Middle East. Did they really want to start something unpleasant with people who could kill them just by stepping on them?

_Just one more year... Elections are next year._ Keller told himself, helping himself to another large mug of coffee despite that he already had two large mugs in his system already. It was turning into a long day and it wasn't even lunch time yet. _And then he's out of office. I just hope the next guy isn't as bad._

A **ding!** noise emanating from his computer's speakers caused him to look over his shoulder at it. A window had appeared with several lines of text in it. Curious, he looked at it and read:

**Optimus Prime wishes to speak to you.**

**Will you accept?**

**Yes/No**

Keller chuckled. Polite as always. He supposed this would be a good time to see what was going on in Nevada. It had been almost a full month. He checked to make sure the web-cam was turned on and clicked 'yes'.

"_Good morning, Defense Secretary Keller._"came Optimus Prime's voice. It sounded small and somewhat tinny over the speakers, but still no less powerful. But in the six-inch window -- video feed -- he looked positively cramped.

"Good morning to you too, Prime." Keller replied politely. "And please, just 'John'."

"_Only if you call me 'Optimus'._" the giant robot returned.

"Very well." he said and flipped right into business-mode. "I'm sure you have already heard, but two meteors came down in the Connecticut/Massachusetts area on Wednesday around 10:00 at night. Are they yours?"

"_Yes. Prowl, my Second-in-Command, and Wheeljack; resident inventor who has a tendency to blow himself up regularly._" Optimus said, smiling and managing to look amused and exasperated at the same time.

"Mark of a good scientist." Keller commented, smiling himself and nodding his head.

Because you never got anywhere in science without making a few messes.

"_Unfortunately, their arrival has brought some unwanted-- guests._" Optimus went on, grim now. "_Mr. Keller, I regret to inform you that this war is not as over as we would like._"

Keller grimaced, but he understood. Such was the nature of war. It just never seemed to end.

"Go on."

"_Prowl was pursued by three Decepticon triple-changers upon his entry to the system; somewhere out in what I believe you know as the Oort Cloud. Triple-changers have two alt-modes; one ground-based, one flight-based. Fortunately, one of Wheeljack's inventions actually worked in the desired capacity. The triple-changers are heavily damaged, if not completely destroyed._"

"So we don't have to worry about them." Keller said. He was no good at reading the Autobot's subtle facial expressions, but he was pretty sure he saw some resignation in there.

"_Not the triple-changers, no. But we are certain at this point that Starscream has returned._"

"A Decepticon masquerading as one of our F-22s." Keller stated, recalling the initial debriefing. "He's back?"

"_I'm afraid so._" Optimus looked downcast and sort of annoyed. "_He brought the rest of his trine with him. Two more Decepticons going by the names of Thundercracker and Skywarp, also in the guises of F-22s. Thundercracker is capable of breaking sound barrier even when standing still and Skywarp can teleport; hence their names. They attacked Sunstreaker; one of our best fighters. He was the very first to arrive._"

Keller let out a heavy sigh at the news and pinched the bridge of his nose. This did not sound like very good news. If those jet mimickers were good enough to take down one of the Autobots' best fighters...

"What's the total number of Decepticons now?" he asked tiredly.

"_Eleven._"

That gave Keller pause.

"What?"

"_Barricade did not fall in Mission City and Frenzy survived as well. The other is Soundwave; the Decepticons' Communications Officer and Third-- Second-in-Command._" Optimus corrected swiftly. "_The other five are Soundwave's cassettes; built specifically for spying and espionage. Frenzy is one of them. Soundwave arrived only last night. I myself was made aware of this only an hour ago._"

Keller let go of another heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose again. He could feel the pressure building up. This is exactly what he didn't need today. With Mr. President trying to be pompous and official and throwing his weight around far too much and tensions building again in the Middle East (something to do with being randomly attacked by a giant metal scorpion-like thing that posed no real threat anymore but was still very much an annoyance), a faction of giant alien robots trying to start a war with another faction trying to put a stop to that war was a really big headache that he didn't need right now. Or at all, really.

The Defense Secretary heaved himself to his feet and started to pace the area in front of his desk, out of range of the web-cam. There were 11 of those little Decepticon bastards running around. Well, 12 if one counted the scorpion, but since no one had died (yet), the random attacks could be safely ignored for the moment. And Prime had said he had only just recently become aware of the situation.

The Autobots' commander did not seem like the type of person who would lie about something as big as this.

"What do you need?" Keller asked in a slightly raised voice.

"_We need our ship. We need the supplies that are on it. We're enough low as it is. I'm requesting permission to bring it down as soon as we acquire the means._"

Keller was half-tempted to ask: What if I don't give you permission? He was pretty sure he knew what would happen. The Autobots would go ahead with it, permission be damned. If they needed the supplies that badly...

The Defense Secretary was torn. He had a duty to his country and its people; to help protect them from war. If he was remembering his history right, before this, there hadn't been a direct attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor. And then the war had been taken to the Japanese and the Germans and each had been put back in their places with extreme prejudice.

On the other hand, each human was born with a strong sense of self-preservation. It took a lot to override that sense and go charging blindly into the breach, which was why he always proud of any soldier for doing what they did.

On the non-existent third hand, he wanted to do what was right and keep as many Americans alive at the same time. Both his duty and his sense of self-preservation went hand-in-hand in this job. Preserving American culture was the thing he wanted to do the most.

And if it meant pushing America head-first into another war that had nothing to do with them...

Maybe that's what had to happen.

"Go ahead. You have my permission."

"_Thank you, Defense Secretary Keller._"

He waited a moment.

Then he slammed his fist into the desktop and prayed that he had done the right thing.

* * *

The Defense Secretary had not sounded terribly happy, but then again, Optimus had just told him the war was nowhere near as over as they would have liked and that it was coming back here. The reactions were understandable.

At least they had permission to bring the _Ark_ down. Now all they needed was a way to do it.

Optimus looked down at the concrete under his feet and leaned against the silo wall, listening to the silence on the base. Bumblebee was with the kids, Ironhide was ferrying the Lennoxes to a family reunion (their other car was in the shop), Sunstreaker was deep in recharge as was usual these days -- seeing as his energy levels had only recently started creeping back up to acceptable levels -- Ratchet was off raiding car scrap yards again and Primus only knew where Jazz had gotten off to. Provided they hadn't gotten held up anywhere, Prowl and Wheeljack were probably close to the New Jersey/Pennsylvania border if they weren't past it already.

In the meantime, the Seekers, Soundwave and his cassettes, and Barricade were all out there somewhere, plotting away. Well... Soundwave was probably doing the plotting. Starscream's strategies often consisted of "hit hard and run away". Barricade seemed like the type who would go with the plan once it was hammered out, but didn't contribute anything to its formation. Thundercracker and Skywarp merely followed Starscream's hit-and-run tactics.

Still, Soundwave wasn't the Third-Turned-Second-in-Command of the Decepticon army for nothing.

Optimus would send Jazz out for recon, assuming he hadn't gone off to do just that already. He had a bad habit of doing that and not telling anyone that he had; a habit the rest of them were still trying to break him of. They needed to know what the Decepticons were going to do next so that they could counter it. The AllSpark was gone for good, so that factor was out. Rescuing Megatron's rusting corpse... Yeah, like Starscream would really waste his time on that. If it was revenge they were after, they were waiting an awfully long time to put it to action. Starscream had always entertained these odd plans to gain power, though, so it could be that with Megatron out of the way permanently, maybe he was at a loss of what to do next.

...Ooh, if that wasn't wishful thinking, Optimus didn't know what was.

He had never stepped around so carefully in this war before.

But then again, this war had never been fought on a planet inhabited by sentient beings who had such a level of technology as these humans did and still knew nothing of things much greater than them living beyond the stars. The AllSpark had merely been an object of much curiosity and speculation and Megatron had been a frozen behemoth that had advanced their technology to the heights it was at today. Admittedly, the humans had surprised him on more than one occasion with their courage, loyalty, and their tenacity in the face of overwhelming odds. They had fought impressively in the opening skirmishes of an alien conflict.

But they couldn't fight in a war that wasn't their own.

Optimus wouldn't make them.

He could only hope that there were many more people out there like Major William Lennox; willing to fight for the sake of another species' survival.

* * *

He could just barely see it now. It was that blue gleam in the distance, not far from the yellow star that was nearby (relatively speaking).

That planet was the source of Optimus Prime's transmission. He would have responded as soon as he'd heard it, but he was exhausted from the running he had done. The only thought in his head was to just keep going.

The planet was still a fair distance away. He wasn't sure how long it would take him to reach it, but he would definitely take a breather once he was in orbit. And then he would head on down and try to find his comrades. He had narrowed the trajectory a little so he knew the general location in which he could look. It was a good thing he was a flier. He wouldn't have to worry about crash-landing in some rocky canyon and getting something important knocked offline.

His only reservation came from knowing that the planet had organic life, and lots of it. He hadn't set foot on a planet like that since...

He wrenched his thoughts back around, focused them on flying, staying on course, planning out how he would contact and locate his comrades once he landed.

He wasn't sure if he would like the planet, but maybe... Maybe it would be different this time.


	10. Chpt9: Shadow of Victory

**A/N:** My reviewers are awesome! I love them all! They always succeed in making my day for like, the rest of the week! I love reading their speculation on possible future events!

Starscream's problem... It's big and little all at once. And I rather hope this is nothing like what anyone is expecting. I pride myself on being able to take old and/or over-used plot ideas and putting a new spin on them. So if I did it right, this should be _far_ from what people are thinking.

This chapter... Heheh, this chapter was _fun_ to write. The first of the not-dead things appears, accompanied by some foreshadowing. Enjoy.

Note: this chapter also contains some Russian words that I found on a very nice online Russian dictionary that I haven't been able to find since I first wrote this bloody chapter. If you know the language, then I apologize in advance for what is likely to be improper sentence structure and possibly incorrect word-usage. I had to take an educated guess.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Nine: Shadow of Victory

* * *

That sorry little maggot... Disgusting fleshing; it would die most painfully at his hands. He would be sure of that.

"Mine!" he spat, reaching for it while the maggot tried to scurry away. "AllSpark!"

Prime -- that insufferable pile of scrap -- was yelling something, but he paid no attention. All his attention was focused on the tiny cube clutched in the maggot's arms. The AllSpark would be his if it was the last thing he ever accomplished. If he couldn't have it, then no one else could. It was plain and simple.

He reached for his victory.

And then there was pain.

It was not pain he had experienced before. It was burning, molten pain that shot right to his spark; to the very core of his being. It paralyzed him for a long moment. He tried to get away, to stop it, but it didn't stop. It didn't go away either. He clutched his chassis with one hand and stared dazedly at the molten redness that gathered on his fingers.

_Ooh, this isn't good._

There was enough time for that thought to cross his processor before his spark seized. Caught in the throes of death -- yes, this was his death; he knew it was coming this time -- he lurched backwards, falling against the pavement that had broken in the battle. His strength drained away from him. His spark fluttered weakly, trying desperately to cling to life, but it was no use. He knew it.

In his fading vision, he saw Prime looming over him, pity in his optics.

Pity?

No, this was not how he wanted to die. Dying in battle... That was an acceptable end, he supposed. But dying -- battle or no -- on a filthy, miserable, organic-infested world such as this was **not**. And most of all, he did not want his final vision to be of Optimus Prime with that damnable look of **pity** slapped across his face.

"You left me no choice... Brother."

_No choice?... Oh, but there is always a choice, Prime._

Darkness encroached.

_There is always a choice._..

* * *

"Rob! Hey Rob! Getcher ass up and c'mere and take a look at th' seismographs! They're jumpin' like Gramma's crawdaddies!"

Robert Gallagher unwillingly wrenched his eyelids up and rotated his wrist so he could have a look at his watch. Like usual, it took him a full minute to recall that the long hand told the minutes and the short hand told the hours and then figure out which hand was where. Finally, he concluded that it was ten past five on the morning of June 28th and he was clutching an empty coffee thermos to his chest while trying valiantly not to vomit up his stomach.

The voice that spoke of "Gramma's crawdaddies" was William Hicks also known as "Bill", "Billy", "Billy-Bob" or occasionally just "Bob". He was a born-and-bred Southern boy with a tendency to use all sorts of expressions that didn't always make sense. A chunk of them he'd completely made up anyways. Robert had worked alongside Billy for two years; it was the only reason he remotely understood what even half those expressions meant. He was considering creating a dictionary for the others, who always got lost.

"Robby! Get Ollie and get out here! We got us a good ol' fashion case o' a plugged-up pig!"

Robert closed his eyes and buried his head underneath his meager pillow, hoping that it would be an effective buffer against Billy's exuberant voice even as it cut through the final blissful folds of sleep. He tried not to imagine what a real case of a plugged-up pig was like. He had not slept well after discovering that he was susceptible to seasickness and here on a boat, anchored somewhere near the Laurentian Abyss, was turning into absolute hell.

"Oi... Shut that bloody focker up, will you?... Decent people tryin' to sleep here..." growled a second voice; the other occupant of the small cabin and the third member of Robert's team, Oliver Macauley, also known as "that Scottish Bastard". He had an accent that suggested that he either Scottish or Welsh, but since he'd never told them either way, they continued to refer to him as "that Scottish Bastard".

"Doesn't come with an 'off' button... Sorry..." Robert groaned and swallowed back his stomach as the ship hit a sizable swell.

"Might as well go see what the bloody hell he's on about." Oliver rolled out of the bunk and slapped Robert's shoulder. "C'mon. Before Bill starts raving like a loon again."

Reluctantly, Robert heaved himself off the bunk, his stomach twisting around and around. He simply fell to his knees and groaned some more.

"Never got your sea legs, did you." Oliver **tsked** disapprovingly, shaking his head.

"Musta missed me when they were passing 'em out." Robert joked, gratefully taking the helping hand that pulled him to his feet. "I can't wait until I get to spend a nice quiet time on dry, _unmoving_ land."

He staggered for the door, holding his roiling stomach with one hand and his coffee thermos with the other. The door came open on its own as the ship hit another strong swell. That latch had always been so bloody shoddy.

"She's really buckin" this mornin' ain't she?!" Billy hollered from the stern of the ship. He looked like he was having the time of his life; straddling the railing like it was horse and moving expertly with each rolling swell. Robert was relieved to see that he had had the presence of mind to tie himself on and he was wearing a life jacket. Billy was also sometimes known as "that Southern Bastard". He looked like a born-and-bred Southern boy; straw-blonde hair, blue eyes and not a single growth of facial hair. And he was in his mid-30s.

Robert ("that Seasick Bastard"), meanwhile, rubbed his five o'clock shadow and wondered where he could get himself some coffee.

"Where's the coffee?" he asked.

Oliver dragged him through another doorway where the seismographs were stationed. There were six of them, one for each of the remote sensors that had been buried around the abyss. Monitoring them was Ruslan Petrovich ("that Russian Bastard"), the fourth and final member of the team, excellent cook and boat driver and a perpetual cigar in the corner of his mouth. He just seemed to fit every stereotype of a Russian-in-America image. They didn't even know if he spoke any English, since he always shot Russian words at them, but he seemed to understand them anyways and they always managed to figure it out. Besides, he did his work to satisfaction and he hadn't let any of them down yet.

Robert only had to look at one seismograph to see that all of them were "jumpin' like Gramma's crawdaddies".

"Holy shit, what the hell is going on down there?" Robert breathed, clutching the thermos closer as though it was his lifeline.

"Кофе вчерез там." Ruslan pointed to the coffee maker set up in the corner.

"And you are a god." Robert said with a smile, moving to fill his thermos with that brown glorious liquid of the gods. He worshipped coffee. Coffee was his god.

"я охотно позволяю вам."

"Right, well what do you make of these?" Oliver asked, looking at the seismograph nearest to him. The activity had been going for the less than ten minutes, but the needles were jumping across the paper, leaving thick black lines in their wakes.

"The Laurentian Abyss isn't known for seismic quakes." Robert muttered thoughtfully. "It has barely any history for them, now that I think about it." He looked up at Oliver. "When did these start?"

"Five minutes ago." Oliver replied flatly.

"Don't be a smartass." Robert snapped, unconsciously employing the same tone he used on his boys whenever they were being smartasses. "When did the sensors start recording them? Before we got here."

Oliver thought for a moment.

"I think... The reports said that they had been happening on and off since June 9th." he said at length, rubbing his chin.

"That explains the rough ocean swells." Robert shrugged. "Ruslan, any thoughts?"

The Russian man shrugged and continued his observation.

Outside, Billy whistled loudly.

"Robby, Ollie! Getcher asses out here an' come see this!" the Southern boy shouted. "Whole place is goin' up like a cat in a cock fight!"

Making faces at the expression -- honestly, it could have been something that didn't inspire such disturbing mental images -- Robert and Oliver stepped outside and Robert nearly dropped his precious coffee.

The Labrador Sea was roiling as if in a storm; iron-gray waves crashing against each other, but there wasn't a cloud in sight and it definitely hadn't been doing that three minutes ago. The center of the disturbance was some 50 feet from their anchored position and damn was it massive. Something akin to a whirlpool was developing, but it couldn't seem to figure out which way it wanted to turn. It would spin left for several seconds before noisily reversing direction and turning right.

"What the bloody--!" Oliver shouted, lurching towards the railing. "Ruslan!" he shouted over his shoulder. "What's the Richter scale at?!"

"Шесть пункт три и вставание!"

"Did he just say six point three?" Robert asked in shock, his broken grasp of Russian not serving him any good right now.

"And _rising_." Oliver said grimly.

"Rising?" Robert repeated, coffee completely forgotten in his hand. Oliver nodded. "We're getting the bloody hell out of here then! Billy, bring the anchor up! Ruslan! We're leaving! And fast!"

"Хороший идея!" Ruslan said, rushing out of the seismograph room and to the helm.

Robert ran to the CB radio to place a call with the Coast Guard. This earthquake was going to get nasty fast and the right people needed to know about it. Screw that, this earthquake **already** was nasty and it was just getting worse.

The boat bucked under another large swell and Robert was knocked off his feet. He grabbed the microphone on his way down, jerking the radio down with him.

"Mayday! S.O.S.!" he squawked into the microphone, not caring if he was using the right terminology. "This is the scientific research vessel, the _Pursuit_! We've monitoring seismic activity in Laurentian Abyss and there's an earthquake measuring beyond 6.3!"

He might have gone on, but the ship listed alarmingly to the right, like it had taken on water, causing him slid back towards the door and he lost his grip on the microphone. Swearing profusely and clambering to his feet, he heaved himself at the radio long enough to send the automated S.O.S., and then scrambled out of the tiny room and back onto the deck.

Robert grabbed a hold of the railing to brace himself and stared at the ocean. The water was bubbling and swirling now; waves much higher than their ship rising all around them. Where the whirlpool had been was something more like an indent; a concave bubble in the water. Like something was pulling the water down.

And then something emerged.

The first thing Robert thought of was the old movie _Clash of the Titans_; particularly the scene where the mighty Kraken rose from the ocean depths to help himself to the virgin sacrifice, right before the weenie hero slaughtered him and rescued the virgin.

Except that this Kraken was a metal beast.

And there was no hero -- weenie or not -- coming to rescue their sorry asses.

Glowing, evil red eyes glared menacingly from the cover of a tarnished helmet. Robert could feel a strange sort of heat burning from the beast. And worse yet, it saw him and its entire face crinkled with intense hatred.

A mighty arm swept out of the ocean, transforming into some kind spiked Morningstar. The weapon was raised, poised to be brought down.

Here the beast paused, as though it wanted them to get a good long look at their reaper.

The Morningstar came down with deadly accuracy.

Screaming and foul language erupted around him.

Robert closed his eyes and wondered what his boys were going to eat for breakfast this morning.

* * *

_There is always a choice..._

It was those to words -- his own words -- that he woke up from an endless darkness that hadn't felt much like death. Death was silent and forever. That darkness hadn't been so silent. There had been a soft voice whispering in his audial, telling him of the greatness he had left undone. There was still a chance to go back, it insisted; still a chance to realize his ambition, exact revenge, claim the high throne his pride demanded.

At first, he was terribly confused. The pain was gone. The molten fire was gone. And his spark no longer struggled for life. It beat out a steady rhythm in its chamber; not skipping or fluttering or dying.

Perhaps the best part was the lack of Prime and his pitying look.

Yes, that definitely was the best part.

He stared at his surroundings for a long moment, trying to make sense of them. It was remarkably warm and the air was clouded and sort of bubbly like--

Water.

He looked left and right, seeing the mangled, semi-crushed bodies of his comrades. They were dead, destroyed by the wretched Autobots and further defiled by those worthless maggots.

He also seemed to be missing a leg. Hmm...

He spotted the detached limb a few yards away. He grabbed it and fitted it onto the jagged edge that had been left behind. He watched the edges weld themselves together. Wires reattached, feeling returned and he was whole again. There was only the faintest seam left behind.

The power of the AllSpark singing in his circuits.

He didn't know how. He certainly didn't know **why**. Except possibly for the words of the voice he had heard before waking up -- _he had a choice_. On the whole, however, he didn't particularly care. He made his way up to the surface. Something propelled him steadily upwards. His head broke through the surface and the first thing he laid his optics on was a boatful of those disgusting fleshlings. A quick death would good enough for the stupid things. They should be honored to be the only ones who wouldn't suffer when he crushed this pathetic mudball-planet between his fingers.

He brought his Morningstar out of the water and destroyed the maggots in a crushing blow. Their fragile boat shattered in an instant, but he was already turning his attention away. There were more important things he had to do.

His body twisted and warped in a familiar fashion and then he was back in a familiar form, blasting his way back to solid land. He landed on the slope of the Labrador coast and transformed back to standard mode.He stretched his arms to their full length and let loose a thunderous howl of sheer exultation. The ground beneath his feet trembled; every tree for as far as he could see belched up clouds of panicked birds. Every inch of his being was overflowing with energy from the AllSpark. Really, what that degenerate fleshbag had done had been a blessing! He had never dreamed of being so powerful (and Megatron was a mech whose dreams were ambitious indeed).

But right now, he needed to clean himself off. It wouldn't do for the up and coming destroyer of the planet Earth to be covered in its... leavings.

Kelp and seaweed hung from every conceivable (and some inconceivable) nook, there were barnacles all over the top of his head, making it look like he was wearing some sort of bizarre crown, and a now-gasping giant squid had tried to make a home on his left leg. He plucked it off and threw it carelessly over his shoulder. Fortunately for the squid, it landed in the water and sped right back for the depths from whence it had come.

"Ugh... Organics."

Scraping the rest of everything off, he felt the top of his head, wondering if he was going to need any sort of cosmetic surgery to fix the marks. Maybe it didn't look too bad, but...

Never mind.

There wasn't time for that.

This planet deserved to die.

He reached out, scanning for the presence of both his soldiers and his enemies. Both were some 9000 miles from his current location. He would find his soldiers first. He didn't know exactly how much time had passed since he was last awake, but he knew he needed information.

And then he needed revenge.

* * *

His spark gave a horrible wrench, like something had just tried to yank it out, and he staggered. He grabbed at the wall for support, but found that it failed him. He must have cried out (he didn't know, himself), because the next thing he knew, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Prowl were right there at his side; Jazz, Wheeljack, and Bumblebee were lingering in the corridor outside, wide-opticed and fearful.

"Optimus, what's wrong?" Ironhide asked, his voice heavy with uncharacteristic fear. But Optimus merely doubled over, trying desperately to keep another pained scream from escaping his vocal processor; hands pressed against his chassis as though he could keep his spark from jumping out of his chest. It felt like it was trying to do just that.

"What's going on?!"

"Optimus!"

"What's wrong?!"

"Slag! I think it's his spark!"

"_WHAT_?!"

"No..." Optimus wheezed out through a haze of pain, bringing the frantic shouts to silence. It was important for all of them to hear this.

"It's Megatron... He's alive..."

And then he collapsed.

* * *

The scars seared with sudden heat and Sam dropped Mojo's water dish on the floor. He dove for the sink, turning the water on as cold as it came and thrust his hands beneath the flow. He looked at his hands and under the rush of the water, saw that his AllSpark-induced scars were an angry-looking red; like they were fresh, brand new.

"What the hell?..." he asked the empty kitchen.

And then a cold feeling fell over him, like he had just been doused in cold water all over, instead of just his hands and his socks.

Sam took his hands out from underneath the faucet and shook himself vigorously, trying to chase away the cold feeling. He looked at his hands again. The burning feeling had stopped and the red had already faded to a lobster pink. As he watched, the thin, swirling scars that ran the length and breadth of his palms, curving around his fingers at random intervals, faded into the light coffee-colored shade they had healed to.

Cautiously, Sam trailed a finger over the thickest scar on the heel of his left hand, but the action elicited nothing more than a slight tickle. Experimentally, he pressed his finger into his flesh, but there was nothing other than the usual pressure. No flashes of pain, no burning feelings, nothing. The burns had healed up perfectly; the skin wasn't fragile or extra-sensitive. It was like his skin had been simply been stained.

Granted, the scars had been caused by something that had very extra-terrestrial origins. He couldn't claim to know everything.

But he couldn't figure out what could have caused them to burn like that.

* * *

"_**Starscream! Starscream, HELP!!**_"

_**He banked--**_

And jerked out of recharge before the dream could finish. Putting a hand to his aching head, Starscream rose from the-- the ground? What was he doing on the ground? How had he gotten on the ground in the first place anyways?

Primus, it felt like someone had shot him in the back...

Starscream brushed away the grit that had collected on his front and picked up the slightly squished-looking piece of machinery that had been laying a few inches from his hand. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a long moment. What had he been doing with this thing again?

Oh wait, it was a remote sensor node. He'd been building one so he could make others and set them in a perimeter around the base. It was time to turn this dump into a proper Decepticon base.

Human technology was so inferior.

It looked like he had completed it -- when you ignored the slightly crushed part. Starscream couldn't remember if he'd tested it or not. He'd have to fix that crushed part first anyways...

Starscream started to peel off the crushed metal plates, trying to ignore the inexplicable pounding in his head and his back. When in the Pit had that happened anyways? He must have passed out or-- No, no. The leader of the Decepticons simply did not _pass out_. That was much too undignified. He must have been shot at. Yes, that was it. Someone had shot at him. It was probably Soundwave. That fragging Seeker-wanna-be was the second-in-command. He probably thought that if he got rid of Starscream, then **he** would get to be the Decepticon leader.

Well, Soundwave was going to have to aim a lot better than that!

A growl escaped Starscream's vocal processors as he tore that the battered sections of metal on the sensor with increasing ferocity. Stupid, slagging squishy technology! Refining what poor metal alloys he found into something useable was such an abominable pain in the aft.

Or maybe it was Thundercracker and Skywarp...

Yes, those two had been awfully cozy as of late; spending a lot of time in dusty corners, whispering to each other and peeking over their wings at him. They always shut their gobs whenever he was in hearing range. As if that would make them look _less_ suspicious! They thought he hadn't noticed, but oh no, he saw them. He saw the narrowed optics. The calculating looks. They were plotting his downfall. They were going to shoot him in the back and then sell his corpse off for scrap and either hand the Decepticon leadership over to someone less deserving or take it for themselves.

But they would never succeed. He'd scrap them both before they so much as laid a rifle on him.

Again.

He was Starscream and no one would ever take the mantle of leadership away from him.

"Starscream!"

He jerked around, null ray trained on Skywarp who had just appeared around the corner of the building, rapidly dragging air through his intakes to cool his internal systems; the mech equivalent of being out of breath.

"What are you doing bothering me?!" Starscream snapped angrily. "I came out here to get **away** from you pests!"

"Screamer, you gotta haul aft!" Skywarp said frantically. He looked frightened. Pathetic. "He's really, really mad at you and I think he's gonna shoot you again!"

"Again?" Starscream repeated, lowering his null ray a little. "Who is it?! Is it Soundwave?" he asked, shuttering his optics and slowly shaking his aching head. "Tell that pathetic excuse for a flier that if he thinks he's going to be the leader, he needs to hit a more vital spot next time!"

"I'm sure he'll keep that in mind." said a deep voice that was most assuredly NOT Skywarp.

Starscream's optics flew open in time to see the terrified black and purple Seeker warp away.

"I certainly know I will."

His optics fixed on the gleaming silver body that fairly towered over him; at the Pit-fire red optics that glared down at him; at the mouth set in a grimace of pure disgust; and most importantly, at the gaping black hole of a fusion cannon pointed directly at his spark.

"Hello Starscream."

"M-Megatron!" Starscream gulped, his voice hitching and squeaking in a most undignified manner. He reflexively scrambled away from the maw of the cannon. "F-Fancy seeing y-you again--"

"Silence, you sniveling wretch!" Megatron barked, causing Starscream to cower. "What are you still doing here?"

"Why-- C-Carrying on the work of the Decepticon army, of course." Starscream said, a little bit of his usual smarminess returning. "As you can see--"

Megatron whacked him across the face with the fusion cannon. Starscream reeled from the blow and went sprawling to the tarmac. He made no move to get up right away; the ground was looking much friendlier than it ever had before, after all... But Megatron didn't give him even a second to get more familiar with that nice friendly ground. He hauled the Seeker up by the wing and gripped Starscream's throat in one impossibly strong hand, lifting him clear off the ground.

"What are you still doing **here**?" Megatron repeated in a low, gravelly voice.

Starscream didn't answer. Not because he didn't want to, but more because he couldn't. The hand was compressing his vocalizer, rendering him unable to speak.

"I called for you ten minutes ago." Megatron went on, jerking him closer until those hellfire eyes were very nearly all Starscream could see. The Decepticon leader's voice reverberated in his chassis like thunder. "What are you still doing hiding back here? Oh..." He grinned; a mirthless one. "Were you hiding? Too afraid to face me? Unable to face the fact that you've lost your place **yet again** as the 'all-powerful _leader of the Decepticons_'?"

He mimicked the Seeker's sneering tone to the letter.

_Ten minutes ago? I was out that long?_ Starscream wondered, thoughts whirling, still gripping Megatron's hand but utterly powerless to wrench it even the tiniest bit loose from his neck.

"How pathetic." the newly-returned Decepticon lord sneered. He opened his fist and Starscream fell back to the ground with an ugly crunch of metal on concrete. Then he turned and stomped back around the corner, already barking orders to Soundwave to dispatch Laserbeak so they could get a fix on the Autobots' location.

Slowly, Starscream started to drag himself up, assisted halfway by the timely arrival of his wing-mates. His earlier resentment of them was quite forgotten, though he still wouldn't admit how grateful he was to have them around than at this moment.

"Screamer, you okay?" Skywarp was asking with much concern for his wing-mate. "He didn't hurt you too badly, did he?"

"No..." Starscream replied as he tried to pull his feet under him.

"Starscream, you don't look so good." Thundercracker said with a small frown. "Are you sure--"

"I'm sure." Starscream interrupted, feeling his anger toward them spike again. The last thing he wanted right now was an interrogation. He wasn't stupid enough to think that his wing-mates were totally ignorant of the fact that he hadn't been recharging at all for the last few days, but he wasn't about to admit that there was anything _else_ wrong besides being kicked around by Megatron. That at least was somewhat normal.

"That was _not_ Megatron though." the Seeker added, partially to change the subject; partially because it was something that truly bothered him.

"What?" his wing-mates asked in tandem.

"You've been around him for more than a minute and you haven't noticed?" Starscream frowned at them in disbelief. "He's different. He's-- powerful."

"Of course he's powerful." Skywarp said in a "duh" tone. "Otherwise he wouldn't be the--"

"No! Not like that!" Starscream interrupted. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently. "He's..."

Primus, how could he say this? His thoughts were so scrambled; he couldn't put them straight for the life of him. The Megatron he'd just met was _not_ the Megatron he'd known when he'd first joined the ranks of the Decepticon army; was not even the same Megatron from the time of the war. _That_ Megatron had been ambitious, ruthless, merciless, powerful, but... within reason, somehow.

This Megatron was powerful on a level beyond that. Frighteningly powerful. The very air around him seemed to boil with it. Starscream swore he could see that aura burning around Megatron out of the corner of his optic, but it always vanished when he tried to look directly at it.

He shook his head, as if that would jolt his thoughts into the proper order.

"He shouldn't even be alive." Starscream said finally, softly, as though afraid to be overheard. "The Pit-slagging human Prime was protecting shoved the AllSpark into Megatron's chest. It burned him out from the inside. All that was left for the squishies to dump in the ocean was melted slag."

At one point, those words would have sounded damned sweet indeed, but right now, they hung like icicles in the air between the three Seekers. Thundercracker and Skywarp shared identical looks of shock and dismay. Starscream had never told them exactly how Megatron had died, nor exactly how the AllSpark had been destroyed...

"You don't think..." Thundercracker started, looking around. "Primus, Starscream, you don't think-- The AllSpark?"

"It brought him back." Starscream said in nearly a whisper. "And it turned him into something _else_."

"Like what?" Skywarp asked, his voice faint with undisguised fear. Even he had felt the aura of cold menace radiating from the Decepticon lord.

"I don't know." Starscream shook his head wearily, turning away from them. He didn't need this. He didn't want this. He was so tired, but he couldn't bring himself to fall into recharge. He just couldn't. He couldn't even bring himself to be upset about the fact that he had just lost his position as leader to Megatron yet again. The gross irony that even Megatron's **death** hadn't allowed him, Starscream, to become the undisputed leader of the Decepticons didn't even set his spark blazing. It was like... It didn't matter. He felt numb.

Something was screeching at him to not let this injustice stand; an oh-so-familiar voice demanding that he go and challenge Megatron to a final duel, winner take all, loser blasted into slag. The urge was nearly overwhelming. He felt like his whole life would be complete if he just walked around that corner and fire a few bolts at the glitchy, undead slagger.

And he just might have, had his wing-mates not taken hold his arms and gripped tightly. At first, he didn't know why they were doing that. Did they realize what he felt like doing and were they trying to hold him back or something?

And then he remembered, back in school, whenever something well and truly spooked them, they would grab his arms for reassurance and then hide behind _him_-- their "protector".

His wing-mates were frightened and at the moment, they were not afraid to admit it.

Starscream was too exhausted to be truly frightened by Megatron. He supposed the fear would hit him later when he was staring down that fusion cannon barrel again. He was too exhausted from his own dreams to do nothing more than simply let his wing-mates hold on.

He didn't want to go scaring them any more than they already were.

They were his best friends.

They had never said a word against his actions back then, on that day when everything had ended. They never blamed him for what had happened... Maybe they had never blamed him in the first place...

Maybe he'd been pushing them away for too long.


	11. Chpt10: Grim Assessment

**A/N:** I gotta say, you guys must really be diggin' the whole thing with the Seekers. Not one person (that I know of, anyways) has complained about it. Is it because whenever the Seekers show up in any other story, they're usually portrayed as complete jerks? Well, I always thought there was something more to them other than utter jerkiness. Jerky Seekers annoy me. They just seem way too two-dimensional that way. C'mon, they're mechs too! They deserve a little personality! I hope this story is a refreshing change.

As for Thundercracker and Skywarp's reactions at the end of the last chapter... Let me put it this way. These boys have got a long history together and oh, do I mean _long_. They've been wing-mates for a long time and friends for even longer. I think it's natural to get a bit protective over your friends after such a long time. So that's where **that** stems from.

On a side-note, this chapter contains the beginning of an old plot thread that never went anywhere and I forgot to edit it out when I went super-editor on the story's aft last November. If you catch it, seriously, don't look too far into it. It's not going anywhere.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Ten: Grim Assessment

* * *

Bumblebee was scared, but he certainly wasn't afraid to admit it.

No one had ever heard Optimus scream like that before.

In fact, he wasn't the only one who was scared. Though Prowl was doing a very good job of not showing it, he was visibly rattled. Ratchet had tossed a protesting and extremely grumpy Sunstreaker out of the medbay just for the sake of privacy. He had pretty much tried to drag himself away until Jazz had taken some pity of him because the poor 'bot was still lacking a right leg. Ironhide hovered worriedly around outside the medbay door like some large black metal humming bird until Ratchet opened the door and gonged him over the head with a wrench and plainly told him to go away. He was mollified a bit by the fact that the medic wasn't letting _anyone _through the door, not even Wheeljack. Ratchet knew without a doubt that if he let even one of them in, the rest would want in too and then he wouldn't be able to throw all of them out at the same time.

Matters concerning the spark were always delicate situations. The only thing Ratchet could do was keep an optic on Optimus and make sure his condition didn't get any worse.

But even more disconcerting were the words Optimus had spoken before he'd collapsed.

"_It's Megatron... He's alive..."_

No one liked the sound of that.

Jazz knew where the Decepticons had made base after his unauthorized jaunt into recon.

Prowl knew that someone had to go check it out again to see if there was any validity behind Optimus's claim; because the first thing Megatron would do would be to seek out his soldiers.

But Prowl was unsure. He was torn between his duty as SIC and his loyalty as a friend.

Bee watched silently as Prowl paced back and forth, his face a mask of fierce concentration.

At around three in the morning on June 26th, Prowl and Wheeljack had finally rejoined the main force. And evidently Prowl had been a little more beat-up than he had thought. Ratchet had yelled at him for almost a half-hour while making the repairs and shoved the SIC aft-first out the door. Jazz had had a good laugh at his friend's expense and had told him that Ratchet was only stressing out about Sunstreaker. Wheeljack had been intensely interested in the fact that they had several allies among the humans, but Ironhide had told him -- quite sternly -- that if the inventor scared them off, he was going to become intimately acquainted with the business end of the Weapons Specialist's cannons.

At least, that's what Bee had heard from Jazz. Sam, Miles and Mikaela had all decided at 10:00 that night that they needed to go see a movie and then go out to eat at the nearest Denny's. Then there was an impromptu sleep-over at Sam's house after noticing that it was almost four in the morning and they happened to be the closest to the Witwicky household. They had crawled into bed around six and had slept 'til noon.

Bee hadn't complained too much. He liked to spend time with the kids, but part of him wished that he could have been there to greet Prowl and Wheeljack. It had been a long time since he'd last seen the both of them.

Anyways, it sounded like their road trip had been eventful enough. According to Prowl, they'd gotten all turned around in Indiana; about 40 minutes west of the capital when Wheeljack had sworn up and down that he had picked up another Autobot's signature and had rushed off to investigate (he still maintained that he had detected another Autobot signature). It had been an hour before Prowl had found him, sitting the curb utterly bewildered (the signature had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared). It had been fifteen minutes before Prowl had talked him out of looking around some more and then another hour before they had found their way back to the highway.

The worst part -- they had said -- had been in Utah when they had both picked up no less than a dozen Decepticon signatures, heading right in their direction and had been forced to split up in order to avoid detection. Prowl was still paranoid that they had been followed, but every scan he did yielded no Decepticon signatures in the area. He finally decided that he could only hope that the Decepticons wouldn't be stupid enough to attempt an attack this close to the headquarters.

Finally, Prowl stopped his restless pacing and faced the Autobots sitting or standing next to the wall.

"Jazz, Bumblebee, you two recon the Decepticons' base. Ironhide, go with them, just in case." Prowl ordered crisply. The three mechs nodded and started to leave. "Wheeljack..." The SIC frowned lightly. "Do something about Sunstreaker's lack of limb, will you?"

"This is not my fault!" Sunstreaker shouted heatedly, jabbing a finger at the socket where his right leg should have been.

"C'mon, I've been tinkering with something that should help a little." Wheeljack said, heaving the yellow twin to his lonesome foot and dragging him off to the room he had claimed as his workstation. "Probably won't get much mobility out of it, but you should be able to transform--"

"Is it going to blow up on me?" Sunstreaker asked sharply.

"No-- Well, it shouldn't..."

Under the cover of Sunstreaker's orders to Wheeljack to put him the frag down, one missing limb was one too many, Prowl slipped into the medbay. It was much smaller than he thought it was. The first and only time he'd been in here, Ratchet had been chewing him out and most of Prowl's energy had gone towards not invoking the medic's wrath any further. Now that he got a good look at it, it seemed much smaller; especially since much of it seemed to be taken up by Optimus's bulk. The quiet hiss of the mech's cooling system assured Prowl that the commander hadn't ceased to function.

In the second room, he found the medic.

"Well?" the SIC questioned.

"He'll come around once he stops spontaneously overheating." Ratchet replied grouchily. He was fiddling with what looked to be part of Sunstreaker's missing and damaged leg.

"I've sent Jazz, Bumblebee and Ironhide to recon the Decepticons' base." Prowl explained. "We need to fully validate Prime's claim. They're already on their way." He leaned slightly against the doorframe. "I believe Wheeljack has a temporary prosthetic for Sunstreaker." The SIC narrowed his optics and asked in the closest tone he ever got to 'worried': "Are you certain that Sideswipe is not on this planet?"

"Absolutely." Ratchet said, turning around. "Sunstreaker was the first to arrive following Optimus's initial transmission. Even if, by some stroke of luck, Sideswipe arrived before we did, Bee would have known and tracked him down. He spent almost five years here in search of clues to the AllSpark."

"I see." Prowl muttered, pinching the plates on his nose.

He was tired; having barely recharged since he'd made planet-fall. He had pushed the travel pace to cover as much of the States as possible in the shortest amount of time. Upon arriving -- but after his repairs were completed -- he'd been briefed on the situation -- the Decepticons were regrouping -- and then he had begun to catalogue their meager resources -- which were pitiful, unless Ratchet had gone to strip car scrap yards again -- find out just how much help and support they were getting from the local government -- at the moment, not a lot; they were having problems of their own -- and perform a host of miscellaneous tasks that had been neglected (albeit understandably) as of late. And if he wasn't doing that, then he was putting his head together with Ratchet and Wheeljack to discuss expanding their current base further underground and the placement of the _Ark_ once they brought it down. He'd also been scouting the area; seeing what could be easily defended and hard to reach by humans. He had several places in mind already.

Seven days on Earth and he'd accomplished a grand total of ten hours of recharge.

He was used to pulling all-nighters for one reason or another, but he was always careful to not go more than two nights in a row without recharging.

The one thing Prowl hadn't thought he'd be doing when he'd heard that Megatron had been destroyed and the Decepticon army was essentially leaderless, was starting practically from scratch.

He also hadn't thought that Starscream would jump so quickly back into the leadership role.

Leading an army in a time of war was difficult. There had been a few times when Prowl had been unceremoniously thrown aft-first into the role of leader because Optimus had been out of commission for some reason and the situation had been rapidly falling apart. Second in Command and strategist he was; leader of an army he was not.

If the status of the Decepticon army was anything like theirs, Prowl imagined that Starscream was sweating bullets by now. In terms of numbers, the Decepticons had the Autobots outnumbered. In terms of capable fighters, the Autobots had the Decepticons outnumbered. Though plenty strong in their own right, the cassettes hadn't been built for battle; plain and simple. And if Sunstreaker's temporary prosthetic leg worked in its desired capacity -- that is, if didn't blow up because Wheeljack had installed something that didn't belong on legs, temporary or not -- the Autobots would have one of their strongest warriors up and fighting.

But if Megatron had well and truly returned--

What was that phrase that the humans liked to use?... Oh, yes.

If Megatron had well and truly returned, then they were screwed.

Prowl continued standing in the doorway, watching Ratchet work on the disconnected limb. It was a rare moment in which he had nothing to do and Ratchet had raised "ignoring nosy mechs" to an art form.

Presently, they both heard Sunstreaker's irritated voice drift down the corridor.

"That'll be the prosthetic." Ratchet commented, abandoning his work and heading out into the corridor. Prowl followed, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"It feels awkward!" Sunstreaker was complaining. "Are you sure it's not gonna fall off?"

"Positive." was Wheeljack's response.

Ratchet and Prowl came around the corner to see Sunstreaker hobbling around on a mismatched leg. It was a rushed job; meaning the joints only bent so far and it looked to be an inch of so shorter than Sunstreaker's original. It was securely strapped on, but it wasn't meant to be permanent.

"Try and transform." Ratchet instructed.

The yellow warrior glared briefly at him and then his body folded in on itself. An awkward moment later, a shining yellow 1982 Lamborghini Countach was sitting proudly in the corridor. Save for a slight discoloration on the back bumper (the metal there was more of a mustard yellow), everything looked perfectly fine. The prosthetic leg resisted transforming but for no more than a second.

Sunstreaker transformed back and thumped the fake leg against the floor a few times.

"Go easy on that!" Wheeljack admonished, smacking the yellow mech across the top of the helm. "I built it to last, but it won't if you abuse it too much!"

"I want my real leg back." Sunstreaker muttered, sounding very much like a sullen sparkling whose favorite toy had just gotten taken away by an adult.

"You'll get it back when I get the appropriate amount of supplies and the right tools to fix it." Ratchet said. "Walk."

"...What?"

"Walk. I want to see how well you can move with that."

"Not very well." Sunstreaker grumped, but plodded to the end of the hall in a sort of limping gait; reinforcing Ratchet's initial observation that the prosthetic was an inch or so too short.

Of course, Sunstreaker probably hadn't sat still long enough for Wheeljack to get an exact measurement.

"Well?" He looked up for the medic's approval.

"Good enough." Ratchet nodded. "Again, don't abuse it. It has to last until we can get your original leg fixed."

Sunstreaker grumbled something inaudible and half-heartedly slapped the prosthetic.

"It's as ugly as Pit." he groaned, more to Wheeljack. "Couldn't you have gotten the right color, at least? It probably leaves a big blotchy patch on my alt-mode!"

The other three mechs exchanged amused looks, but didn't say anything.

"It does, doesn't it?!" Sunstreaker burst out, scandalized that his appearance had been defiled by a blotchy discoloration. "Where is it?! Where does it show up?!"

There was silence for a moment.

"On your aft."

Prowl seemed to take a certain vindictive pleasure in saying that.

Sunstreaker seemed to wilt.

Ratchet simply had to laugh.

And then Optimus screamed.

They were back in the medbay in a flash -- except for Sunstreaker who lagged behind, due in part to his leg -- in time to see Optimus surge to his feet way too fast and smash the top of his head against the ceiling. He dropped to his knees, cursing profusely.

"You don't fit very well, remember?" Ratchet came to the larger mech's side, laughter in his voice. Optimus only groaned, his forehead resting on the berth.

"How are you feeling?" the medic asked. To his relief, his scans showed that Optimus's spark was no longer fluctuating.

"My head hurts." was all Optimus said, sounding very, very young and very plaintive for a moment. Ratchet pried the commander's hands off his head to make sure Optimus hadn't inflicted any major damage on himself. Such occasions were rare in their happenings, but they still happened. It was nothing larger than a few scrapes and a shallow ding that would pop out by itself within a half-hour.

In the meantime, Prowl wedged his way into the bay. Optimus looked up and saw him and snapped right back into leader-mode.

"Prowl! Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Wheeljack's just outside and Sunstreaker's..." Prowl glanced over his shoulder. "He's coming. Jazz, Ironhide and Bumblebee went to recon to the Decepticons' base. They left 30 minutes ago."

"Do you remember what you said before collapsing?" Ratchet asked. "About Megatron. You said that he's alive."

Optimus's optics darkened.

"He is. I don't know how, but he is."

"Um... Correct me if I'm wrong," Wheeljack started. "But didn't you tell us that that Witwicky kid shoved the AllSpark into Megatron's chest?"

Optimus and Ratchet were both dead silent for a moment.

* * *

Sam's phone rang. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"_SAMUEL JAMES WITWICKY, YOU ARE A--_"

The copious swearing was drowned out by the wail of a police siren.

"_--AND WHILE I APPRECIATE YOUR ACTIONS, YOU'RE STILL A--_"

An ambulance went by this time.

"_--AND DON'T LEAVE YOUR HOUSE!!_"

There was a click and the line died.

Very slowly, Sam put the phone down, in shock from having experienced his very first Ratchet-chew-out.

* * *

"_Can we catch up to them?_" Optimus asked.

The mismatched convoy consisting of a Peterbilt semi, a Search-and-Rescue Hummer, a Chevy Impala, and a Lancia Thesis with Lamborghini Countach bringing up the rear, raced down the road to interstate 80.

"_It is difficult to say. They have a half an hour of travel on us. We may not catch up until they arrive._" Prowl replied. He was in front with Ratchet, sirens blaring so they could speed unimpeded.

"_Great. So we're stuck chasing them down._" Sunstreaker muttered.

"_Precisely._"

"_Any ideas how this happened Ratch?_" Wheeljack asked.

"_I think..._"Ratchet pondered for a moment."_When the AllSpark came in contact with Megatron's spark, it was overloaded by the sheer power... But it was not destroyed like we initially believed... Remember, energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred. Megatron didn't die, exactly, but he was probably put into terminal stasis-lock._"

Terminal stasis-lock was a state that mimicked death. Every single system -- primary and secondary -- was shut down. The mech wasn't truly dead, but it was running on the absolute minimum. Terminal stasis-lock was very dangerous and only initiated in the most extreme conditions.

"_Like Skyfire was?_" Sunstreaker asked from the back.

"_Yes._"

"_But it's not possible to recover from terminal stasis-lock without outside help._"Prowl argued.

"_Actually it is, but the process takes much longer._" Ratchet explained. "_Skyfire only took a few days to recover from it, but that was because I was there. Megatron has taken upwards to a month to pull out of it. His systems had to reset themselves on their own._"

"_Given that it was the AllSpark... what about potential side-effects?_"Optimus reflected, and there was an edge to his voice that hinted of deep-rooted worry.

"_The Cube is raw power..._ Ratchet said darkly, echoing his words from before, when Optimus had volunteered to sacrifice his own life to destroy the AllSpark and end the war. "_There was only a seven percent chance that Megatron would fall into terminal stasis-lock in the first place -- By all rights, he __**should**__ have been destroyed. I truly hate to say this, but... His revival only could have happened if he had received extra power from the AllSpark. As to whether he retains that power now..."_

The dire implications of that statement didn't need to be spoken out loud. Each of the Autobots roaring down that dusty highway felt a chill shudder right through the core of their sparks. For several long minutes there was only the thunder of their respective engines and the wail of the sirens.

"_Are you holding up alright, Sunstreaker?_" Optimus asked.

"_Meh..._" the Lamborghini grunted.

"_Don't worry... He can't stay lost forever._"

The road stretched far and long in front of them.

* * *

It took three to four hours of seriously breaking the speed limit to clear the 400 miles before the recon team of Autobots got close to the Decepticons' base in the Utah desert. Jazz waved them back with less than a mile left, just out of range of any sensors that might have been placed and transformed, hunkering down behind a conveniently-placed pile of boulders and a grove of ancient weather-beaten trees. Bee followed, staying low to the ground. Ironhide grumbled something about the sand getting everywhere before he transformed and joined them.

"I wanna shot some 'Cons. Where are they?" he asked, cannons humming almost eagerly.

"Down 'Hide!" Jazz snapped, pushing the nearest cannon into the ground. "We're doin' recon, not shootin' things up."

"I'm sick of recon." Ironhide groused. "I shoot 'Cons. I don't watch them."

"Well, we do." Jazz was in no mood to put up with Ironhide's ill humor. "Sit your aft down an' be patient. Prowl's orders."

Then he turned and carefully peered over the top of the rocks towards the Decepticons' base.

The Decepticons had forcibly commandeered a military testing grounds and the included base as their own. Why no one from the military had investigated the lack of communication from this base was a mystery and at the present time, it was not one Jazz cared to dwell on.

Seeing as their vision was far superior to that of a human's, the three Autobots could see the base as if it were merely inches from them. So they could see that the surrounding tarmac was empty of any incriminating evidence; save for what appeared to be the wrecks of several trucks, a tank and some helicopters.

Jazz was about to instruct Bee through several hand gestures to sneak around to the backside when the massive door on one of the hangers opened about halfway and a mech emerged; a red and silver mech accented by sky-blue highlights.

"_Is that Starscream?_" Bee wondered, optics crinkling in slight confusion.

"_Yeah, I would know that 'Con anywhere._" Ironhide replied. He surreptitiously raised a cannon and took aim.

Jazz examined the Seeker more closely, though, noticing that he seemed different than usual.

"_He looks like slag._" The saboteur noted. "_Really, __**really **__like slag._"

"_He does..._" Bee agreed.

The Seeker was staggering somewhat as he walked in their general direction. He seemed to sag with each step and his normally-gleaming optics were a dull maroon. The red and silver metal was flecked with black scorch marks and his wings were drooping a bit; like it was taking too much energy to keep them at their natural angle. Every few seconds, he stopped walking and looked like he had to think about where he was placing his foot next. He looked as though he hadn't gotten a proper recharge in days.

As the Autobots watched, Starscream reached the edge of the tarmac where it gave way to a shallow slope and the rest of the desert. He looked over his shoulders both ways and then over his head, into the sky. Seemingly satisfied that he had found nothing or no one, he stepped into the sand and reached the bottom of the slope. He tried to sit down but more seemed to fall over onto his back with a soft **phoomph.** He didn't move after that except to reposition his arms and his vents opened long enough to release a gush of hot air.

"_He looks like slag._" Jazz repeated in a flat voice after a moment or two.

"_...Uh, maybe the pressure of leadership finally got to him._" Bee suggested, shrugging.

"_He looks like slag._" Jazz repeated in an increasingly flatter voice. He sounded like he either couldn't or didn't want to believe what his optics were showing him.

"_I've got a good shot if he tries anything funny._" Ironhide informed them.

"'_Hide, he doesn't look like he's in the mood to be funny._" Bumblebee pointed out. "_Or anything else, for that matter..._"

Starscream seemed to have slipped into recharge some time in the last minute.

Nothing happened for a full ten minutes. The wind blew, the sun shined, the sand shifted and all the present mechs were motionless. No one else emerged from the buildings. Then, quite suddenly, the Seeker jerked awake, biting off a scream. Slowly, he sat up and ran a hand over still-maroon optics, groaning tiredly and pinching his nose plates.

Then Jazz snapped his fingers.

"_He's dreamin'!_" he said triumphantly.

"_What?_" Ironhide and Bee asked together.

"_Bee, ya had a series of nightmares after Tyger Pax, right?_" Jazz questioned.

"_Thank you Jazz, I had forgotten all about that until just now._" Bumblebee replied in a certain deadpan tone that only teenagers seemed capable of achieving.

"_That's 'cause your processor didn't wan' t' take it._" Jazz explained. "_Th' only reason they stopped is 'cause ya made yourself sit 'em out t' th' end._"

"_Are you saying that _Starscream_ is _dreaming_?_"Ironhide asked, disbelief coloring every syllable.

"_Yep! C'mon, look at him. He looks like slag. Slag that don't recharge._" Jazz said insistently.

Ironhide took a second, much closer look at the Seeker. Starscream did look like a mess, but it was difficult to imagine that the sparkless bastard was like that because he was being troubled by a memory.

Perhaps that just proved what a powerful force memories could be.

"_Are you sure it's that?_" Ironhide asked Jazz. "_Bee could be right-- pressure of leadership and all... _"

"_No way._" Jazz shook his head. "_Bee looked 'xactly like that at th' end of th' week._"

"_Hey! I'm right over here!_"

"_Ya did. Only I think Starscream might have actually _stopped_ rechargin' altogether._" Jazz went on. He shrugged. "_He won't be any good in a fight either._"

"_Good. One less scrap-head to worry about. Can I take him out now?_"

"_Y'know, Sam was wondering it you'd be willing to dog-sit Mojo when his family goes on vacation--_"

"_Okay! Fine! Enough already!_"

Ironhide lowered his cannons, though he didn't power them down quite all the way, grumbling as his two comrades exchanged discreet high-fives.

"**STARSCREAM!!**"

The almighty shout cut off any further speculation and the mechs jumped. Starscream jumped quite violently and was on his feet and facing the opposite direction in one motion.

And there, advancing across the tarmac, was none other than Megatron.

The Autobots ducked behind the rocks so fast the ground might have dropped out from underneath them. They dared not speak a word out loud to each other. Each of them felt the ground quiver beneath them as Megatron's footsteps thudded closer, then stopped. All three traded nearly identical looks of shock and dismay, and strained their audials to listen to what followed. Not that Megatron made any effort to keep what he was saying secret in the slightest.

"What are you doing out here?!"

"I-I thought I heard s-something, sir, so I came out to investigate--"

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not! I'm not! I really--"

"Starscream! You're covered in sand! What have you been doing?! I certainly hope you haven't returned to your backstabbing ways!"

"I'm not!" Starscream denied yet again, only he sounded a little choked this time. "I swear, Lord Megatron! I heard a noise!"

There was silence for a moment, then a heavy thud of a fist meeting metal, followed by a noisy clatter. Jazz risked a brief glance over the top of the rocks and saw that Starscream had been knocked over. His equilibrium must have been failing if that had put him down. He was displaying a few classic symptoms of recharge-deprivation.

There was no word from Megatron while Starscream picked himself up off the tarmac.

"Starscream, perhaps I doubt you too easily." the Decepticon lord amended in an almost friendly voice. "It seems you have sniffed out a few rats."

Jazz froze and exchanged a brief, wide-opticed look with his comrades.

Then they heard the whine of a fusion cannon warming up.

Ironhide had been waiting for this moment all day and he wasn't about to let Megatron get the first shot in. Cannons already hot, he stood up, whipped around and fired in the same instant that Megatron did. The energy collided quite spectacularly, blowing a gigantic crater into the earth. The smoke and sand settled and Megatron was still standing there, looking supremely unruffled.

He smiled; a frightening thing to see on his face.

"**DECEPTICONS ATTACK!**"


	12. Chpt11: Falling Star

**A/N:** This chapter formally introduces one of my favorite characters and we gain some insight as to the root of Starscream's issues.

And Megatron's just a jerk.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Eleven: Falling Star

* * *

Finally. He'd _finally_ made it.

He was too exhausted to call the emotion "happiness", but he was definitely pleased. With a silent sigh of relief, he settled into orbit around the pearly-white and blue planet, the third in this far-flung solar system. Somewhere down there, his commander Optimus Prime was waiting, along with his other Autobot allies. He wondered how many others had arrived before him, but decided that atmospheric entry was not something he wanted to attempt at the moment. He felt halfway into recharge already, so he just let himself drift and enjoy the scenery.

From this position, he had a good view of the event horizon dividing night and day, passing over one of the larger continents below. It was nothing less than striking; seeing half the planet bathed in a rich golden glow, the other half inky-dark and sparkling with countless tiny lights. Nostalgia and longing welled up in his spark as he gazed upon the silent magnificence of this living jewel hung in space.

He hadn't seen anything to match its beauty since his time on Cybertron.

Cybertron used to have a sun.

It used to have cities that glimmered at night like stars come to rest.

It used to have _life_.

The Autobots had filled him in as best they could on Cybertron's grim fate after he'd been rescued from the ice, but none of them were really clear on what had happened that day. The general consensus was that the planet had been thrown off its orbit by some great calamity. But no one seemed to know more than that. Once shaken from its orbital path, everything that had the planet their home disappeared. The skies turned dark and cold; the stars weren't even in their proper places anymore. Skyfire shivered just imagining the panic that must have broken out; doubtless those left behind thought the Unmaker had returned to plunge them into eternal darkness at last.

Part of him had been -- and still was -- extremely grateful that his last memories of his homeworld were untainted by such tragedy. Cybertron still existed in his mind as a world of clear skies and vast cities shining under twin suns. He had no desire to see the planet as it existed now, and was happy to let Cybertron continue to exist in his memories as it always had.

For now, he floated in orbit around a planet on the far side of the universe, not a single familiar feature in sight. Despite his fatigue, his scientist instincts prodded at him. The planet below -- he wondered what it was called -- appeared to be teeming with organic life. His curiosity spiking, he activated his long-range scanners, passing them over a tannish-brown patch of the large landmass over which he was currently passing. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but he knew what he saw was... odd. He likened it to tiny specks of dust drifting across a table.

Only the specks weren't drifting anywhere near the sedate pace used by most dust specks. They were fast and furious. His fatigue evaporated as he watched.

He didn't know how he could see this or why he felt the need to go down there and get a better look. He resisted the urge. He didn't _need_ to know what was going on down there, did he? It might only be a matter for the natives of this world to concern themselves with. He might cause a panic if he dropped down in the middle of it.

The urge niggled stronger, telling him that he had to _go_. He had to go down there to the surface and do--

Do what?

Was it that important?

Perhaps he should go. Even now, his scientist instincts prodded at him.

It wouldn't hurt to make sure it was nothing.

His thrusters fired and he angled himself belly-first for atmospheric entry in the approved fashion.

And then he descended.

* * *

Ironhide normally wasn't one to shy away from a fight, but at the moment, running away was looking like a more favorable option by the second.

He had faced Megatron a fair number of times in the past, so he was familiar enough with the Decepticon's fighting style to hold his own for a bit, but there was something... strange about Megatron now. Power -- _frightening_ power -- power he hadn't possessed before -- burned in his Pit-fire eyes, radiated off him in near-tangible waves.

Starscream twisted through a rather shaky transformation and took to the air with his two wing-mates. A leering Barricade flanked Megatron on the right while Soundwave and his cassettes stood to the left. Rumble and Frenzy flexed their claws, anticipating the battle to come. Ravage growled in a challenging fashion. The three flying cassettes were in the air overhead, waiting for their orders.

Jazz, Ironhide and Bumblebee stood in battle stances with their various weapons at the ready.

"_Something's wrong._" Bumblebee observed. His battle mask was in place but his door-wings were almost flat to his back, a clear sign of alarm.

"_Yeah..._"Jazz agreed, moving slowly and cautiously.

"_I don't like it._" Ironhide commented needlessly. "_I don't like it one slagging bit._"

Megatron fired the fusion cannon again.

The Autobots scattered and the Decepticons attacked.

For the first few minutes, it was nothing short of absolute chaos. Not one person could get a good look at what was going on. The Seekers swooped and attacked, firing lasers and missiles; though Starscream was admittedly very easy to dodge. His flight pattern was horrible and wobbling all over the place. It was the other two that had to be watched out for though. They seemed intent on making up for their commander's lousy performance and firing with deadly accuracy.

The cassettes weaved in and out of the melee, jumping on and scratching or dive-bombing the Autobots.

Bumblebee was set upon by a snarling Ravage.

Barricade was intent on taking down Jazz with his own two hands.

Ironhide and Soundwave merely fired at whoever on the opposing side was careless enough to get close, not concentrating on any one mech in particular.

And every so often, Megatron would fire the fusion cannon without aiming at anyone in particular; usually blowing a path right through the melee without actually hitting anyone. The cannon made a distinctive whining sound just before it fired, meaning everyone knew just when to dodge.

There was a brief lull in the fighting and the Autobots took the opportunity to fall back.

"This ain't workin' man!" Jazz shouted angrily. He was covered in scratches from Barricade and the cassetticon twins. Many of them were leaking energon.

"Do we retreat?" Bumblebee asked, rubbing his throat. Ravage had tried to turn Bee into a mute again but had failed, fortunately. He also had a rather ugly black mark on his left leg and arm, courtesy of one of the Seekers. Melted metal and sparking wires could be seen as well as some energon. The injury looked painful. Bee was putting his weight primarily on his right side.

"Sounds good." Jazz said, trying to fish something out of subspace with one hand and hold the Decepticons off with the other. "_Ironhide, ya wouldn't happen t' have any flash grenades on ya, would ya?_"

"_I am __**not**__ lowering my cannons to check._" Ironhide replied.

He too was sporting various wounds from the attack. Megatron's fusion cannon had nicked him on one occasion and had completely sheared off the armor of his right shoulder. The joint was slow to move now, like it was half-welded together. He wasn't losing any energon though; the lines had been cauterized shut.

And that had been a glancing shot.

The two Seekers dove in for the kill.

Ironhide raised his left arm-cannon and fired several times and Jazz's fingers closed around what he was looking for.

"Optics!" he shouted and heaved the flash grenade.

It burst into a dazzling show of light as it hit the ground near Soundwave's feet, overloading the Decepticons' optics. They cried out in pain, reflexively covering their optics, but they were already seeing spots as the circuits burnt out.

"THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!" Megatron roared. He was far enough on the sidelines so he wasn't as affected by the flash grenade. Seeing that his troops were blinded for the most part, he transformed into his jet-form and bolted across the sand after the fleeing Autobots. He hit Jazz squarely in the back.

The silver mech went sprawling into the sand and Megatron transformed and landed over him. Jazz was struck by a horrifying second of déjà vu. He had been in this position before.

And he had been ripped in half that time.

He looked up to find himself staring down the black maw of the fusion cannon.

"Die." Megatron growled, his bloodred optics glowing.

A bright light appeared within the cannon. It whined.

What happened next would probably go down in history as the stupidest, most courageous thing ever done in a battle.

Yelling battle cries, Ironhide and Bumblebee tackled Megatron at a run.

They rolled through the sand for some distance, limbs flashing and curses flying and sand going every which way. Jazz rolled to his feet and aimed his own arm cannon, trying to get a fix on Megatron amidst the whirling, screaming mass of silver, black and yellow.

The fusion cannon's whine reached a piercing pitch and then fired.

The abrupt detonation caused Jazz to freeze. The scene in front of him was frozen too. No one was moving. Jazz couldn't tell who had been shot. Megatron was grinning triumphantly. Ironhide and Bumblebee were both looking on in horror.

But Ironhide was looking at Bee.

Jazz's spark suddenly felt very cold.

_Oh slag no..._

Time seemed to slow as Bee spasmed with pain and fell backwards; not making a sound and that was the worst part. Jazz lunged forward, but the sand clutched at his feet, forcing him to fight for every step. Bee slammed into the ground, his left leg completely severed at the hip; wires and metal hanging and a spray of sparks and bright blue energon--

Jazz's mind went blank.

All he knew then was that he was charging forward with a killing intent. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to kill. That silver one had hurt one of his own. The silver one had to pay for that.

But he was stopped. By a black one. _No_! The black one would steal his kill. The silver one was his! _**HIS**_!! The silver one was the enemy! The silver one had to pay!

He pushed past the black one and advanced on the silver one, guns raised and firing away. There was a very loud noise and something yanked him sideways. Then pain seared across his chest, but he still fell. He looked down. The metal on his chassis had been stripped away, leaving semi-melted wires and a steel frame exposed to the elements.

_That ain't good..._

The black one was back; speaking to him in low urgent tones.

"...go to Bee and help him! You're not doing yourself any good here!"

He blinked. _Bee._

_He's hurt!_

Jazz blinked again, awareness returning for the most part. What was he doing? Bee was hurt and he wasn't doing anything to help the little 'bot. He lurched almost drunkenly to his feet. Ironhide gave him a hearty shove in Bee's direction and Jazz didn't need further prompting. Yes, it was best to leave the melee fighting to Ironhide. He hadn't died before. And his armor was thicker. He was built to be right on the front lines.

Jazz felt very dizzy anyways. Maybe it was the pain, but he was barely feeling that. Maybe it was the fact that he was missing the armor on his chassis, or more likely it was the massive rush of murderous lust he'd experienced a moment earlier. He dropped down beside Bumblebee, swallowing back what he presumed to be revulsion. He had seen some grisly injuries on the battlefield before and getting a leg blown clean off wasn't the worst thing that could happen, but this just seemed worse. Maybe because it had happened to Bee.

He thought faintly that he needed to slow the flow of energon leaking from the wound. Jazz placed his hands over the wound and pressed down hard. Bee uttered small cry, but Jazz only pressed down harder. He had to slow the bleeding down.

"Hang in there lil' buddy." he said encouragingly. "Ratchet'll be here soon."

He only said that to keep Bee's spirits up. It was a lie. He didn't know where Ratchet was. Soundwave had predictably jammed all long-range comm. channels and they were still jammed even now, so no one could get a word through either way. They were on their own here.

Jazz looked up across the stretch of sand. Ironhide was holding his own against the freakishly powerful Megatron at the moment, but he had that look on his face. The one that said that he didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

A shadow passed across the sand.

_The Seekers!_

Suddenly remembering their presence, Jazz looked up. The blue one -- oh, he couldn't remember that one's name right now -- was diving with black-purple one just off his wing -- what was that one's name again? Starscream was merely losing altitude; his flight pattern wavering drunkenly.

There was nothing he could do. He would have to take his hands away from Bee's injury to fire at them.

And he didn't want to do that.

In the distance, he heard the roar of several engines.

He didn't care who it was.

They were a little late now.

* * *

Optimus's fuel pump was pounding hard in his throat as he tore across the desert, tires spitting up sand behind him. He could see his comrades now. He could see a dazed-looking Jazz bent over a prostrate Bumblebee, who was missing his left leg. The severed limb was lying a few feet away.

And that made him feel sick to his spark.

But more importantly, he could see Megatron standing there and grappling with a flagging Ironhide.

And the very picture of power.

He virtually _stank_ of energy. It bled off him in waves. Optimus could feel it from where he stood.

It was disgusting.

He transformed without a second thought, pulling out his rifle and firing. The bolt hit the silver mech in the leg and he stumbled, whipping his around.

"Megatron!" Optimus roared. It sounded like a battle cry.

Ironhide turned as well and relief flashed briefly across his face, as the cavalry had finally arrived, but it disappeared as Megatron whacked him aside.

"Prime!" the Decepticon growled, his own anger tinged by something else -- a vicious joy.

The two metal titans charged at each other with earth-shattering ferocity.

* * *

Five shots each from Prowl, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Sunstreaker was what it took to chase off the Seekers. Thundercracker and Skywarp pulled up and spiraled away into the blue sky; Starscream had to fight for every inch of altitude. Ratchet wondered briefly -- locked in the medical mindset to the bitter end -- what was causing him to fly so erratically. The jet was normally one of the deadliest fighters on the battlefield. The most evolved conclusion he could form was "total exhaustion" before he threw his attention to Jazz and Bumblebee.

He didn't want to begin to guess what had sheared Bee's leg off, but he gathered that the cause was over there fighting with Optimus. Ratchet tried to ignore that (because holy slag and all that was good and holy and right in the universe, it was _**Megatron**_!). He had to at least get a patch over the gaping wound and make sure that Bumblebee would remain stable.

Jazz had lost the armor on his chest. Something (Ratchet glanced back at Megatron) had taken it right off. It wasn't an injury, strictly speaking, but it was something that had to be taken care of as soon as the situation allowed it. He wasn't terribly hurt either, but he already seemed to be halfway in stasis by now. When Ratchet had appeared in a flurry, pulling out what medical supplies he had, the saboteur didn't react. His hands had a death grip on Bee's injury, though, cutting off the energon flow. He had still had the presence of mind to stop the bleeding and he had quite possibly saved Bee's life.

The wry, sarcastic part of the medic couldn't help but comment on the fact that now Bumblebee and Sunstreaker were practically a matching pair. Both were bright yellow and both were missing a leg.

"Jazz, let go so I can get a patch on." Ratchet ordered, tugging on Jazz's hands.

"Noo..." Jazz moaned in a very low voice. He didn't even look up. He probably wasn't even aware of who had just spoken to him.

Abandoning his vigil on the sky, Prowl kneeled down and carefully pried Jazz's hands off. He didn't resist much this time. Ratchet immediately slapped the patch on and started to weld it into place. Bee let out a small groan as the welding flame made contact. Ratchet took this as a good sign.

"They're coming back!" Sunstreaker shouted, shifting awkwardly.

The Seekers were diving again.

"Cover fire!" Prowl ordered, standing protectively over the medic and his patients. Ironhide, who had scrambled over to join them, took up position right in front of Bee. He looked exhausted from his fight against Megatron, but he didn't look ready to stop fighting either.

A barrage of fire tore through the air. Thundercracker cursed as a few shots nicked his wings. It wasn't easy to dodge completely. He would give the Autobots one thing. They were good shots.

But he was better.

Skywarp was in a very good mood. He loved to fly, but he especially loved to fly and fight at the same time. He always felt different when he went into battle; like was a whole different person than he was between battles. He couldn't quite explain it, but part of him that normally lay quietly just came alive and screamed with deadly joy when he turned his cannons on his enemies.

He loved it, loved it, loved it!

Starscream didn't care. He was hurting and tired; so tired he just wanted to land and recharge for days. But no, he had to fight. He had to. If he fought, then he wouldn't recharge. And if he didn't recharge, then he wouldn't be plagued by that awful memory of the one thing he could never change, could never fight against.

That's funny, was the earth supposed to be whirling in circles like that?...

_Snap out of it!_ He screamed at himself, sluggishly pulling himself out of the diving barrel roll he had started. He straightened out and started climb upwards for an attack run.

He couldn't remember it being so hard.

It would be nice to just drop into recharge...

_No, stop it! _Starscream yelled at his CPU.

He watched his wing-mates for a moment and noticed that they seemed more ruthless than usual in their attacks today. They concentrated largely on the medic, though most of their shots were neatly deflected. Funny, Starscream had never thought of his wing-mates as being brutal and hardened fighters. Outside of a fight, Thundercracker and Skywarp seemed almost... _friendly_; a trait that had grated on his nerves on many occasions. They ribbed each other over who got the first cup of energon in the morning; they pushed stupid dares on each other while on patrol missions -- who could fly faster, who could pull out of a dive closer to the ground... But they also watched each others' backs fearlessly and as much as they argued, they never let any **other** mech come between them.

It just didn't seem like a proper Decepticon trait. It was more of an _Autobot_ thing, now that he thought about it...

Starscream wondered if there was something wrong with them.

Or maybe there was something wrong with him.

Something blipped on his sensors. He shifted his attention upwards, trying to discern what was up there. All he could see was a small silver gleam. Pheh, probably just a human aircraft. He ignored it.

Across the sand, Optimus and Megatron were still grappling. Optimus was intent on not letting Megatron use the fusion cannon, or even transform. It was more of a wrestling match going on, though at a glance, it was hard to say who was winning.

"Give it up, Megatron!" Optimus shouted. He had Megatron in what was essentially a headlock. "I will not let you destroy this planet!"

"Humans don't deserve to live!" Megatron repeated what he had said in Mission City. He twisted sharply, bashed Optimus on the side of the head and broke free. He fell back and so did Optimus. He needed a breather.

"Have you actually _seen_ those pathetic insects, Prime?" Megatron asked. "They're disgusting! They run around with their short little lives, creating waste and taking up space that could be used for more important things! They should have been stamped out from the very beginning!"

"That is not for you to decide!" Optimus retaliated, furious. "You're not a god! It is not your place to play with the lives of sentient beings!"

"I beg to differ!" Megatron countered.

He leveled the whining fusion cannon for a shot, but Optimus was already charging. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw a gleam of silver and red and the familiar profile of a Valkyrie-class Cybertronian jet bearing down on two of the Seekers.

Relief and surprise produced a truly enjoyable sensation when they mixed and that sensation washed over Optimus when he saw the Autobot insignia gleam scarlet on the nosecone of the jet. Skyfire had arrived and the Autobots now had one up on the Decepticon Seekers.

His relief died quickly, however.

Spotting the newcomer as well, Megatron freed his right arm and the fusion cannon and released a volley of fire on the Valkyrie jet. More than one of the blasts caught Skyfire's back end, catching his thrusters. Yelping in pain -- dammit, he hadn't left orbit to get shot in the aft! -- Skyfire was forced to break off his pursuit of the Seekers -- he hadn't even gotten a decent visual on them. He tried to pull up, but the sandy ground rose to meet him alarmingly fast.

At that very moment, Starscream was banking around and he saw the Valkyrie jet heading for the ground with striking clarity and he wondered if he had slipped into recharge in mid-air. And for a brief moment, the brown sand and the blue sky and white clouds were gone, replaced by snow and ice and steel-gray clouds.

And Skyfire was falling.

Starscream blinked and desert was back, but Skyfire was half-buried in the sand, engines whining uselessly. Starscream felt an overwhelming feeling of utter helplessness tear through him as he listened to that plaintive whining. He thought back to that time; that time when he hadn't been able to do anything but abandon his best friend.

The snow and the ice came back, freezing his spark.

Skyfire was crashing.

He was going to lose his best friend all over again.

Someone was laughing.

Laughing madly.

The helplessness was washed away by a wave of rage; furious, all-consuming rage and he turned to the one who was laughing.

It was the silver one.

The silver one had done it.

The silver one had to _pay!_

Starscream turned and transformed, every weapon trained on the silver mech who was laughing and he opened fire. He threw everything he had at the mech, screaming in a blind rage.

DIE!!

Blast after blast after blast was fired. All other sound was drowned out. He couldn't hear the shouts of surprise and shock or the yells of pain or the voices that screamed at him to stop.

_DIE!!_

He couldn't see anything either. White noise blinded him. All he saw was fire and ice.

_**DIE!!**_

And then he was spent. His energy had drained away.

Alarms rang all around him, warning him of his severely depleted energy levels.

He swayed and then fell to his knees, struggling to keep his optics open.

The fire was gone.

The snow was gone.

The laughter was gone.

Revenge had been meted.

That was all he needed to know.

Secure in that knowledge, Starscream let himself be consumed by the darkness that had been waiting for him for some time.


	13. Chpt12: Nowhere Else To Go

**A/N:** I think, out of all the chapters, this one is my favorite. There's just something about it that I really, really like.

Okay readers, listen up. I've gotten this question several times already and I guess I just haven't made it clear enough. The focus of this plot arc is the **Seekers**. Meaning, there will be no new(er) characters arriving at any point before this plot arc is finished. Thank you for being concerned, but PLEASE STOP asking about Sideswipe. HE IS NOT COMING YET. He's due for an appearance (along with a number of others), but NOT NOW. Thank you.

Sweet cheddar-baked Jeebus, my birthday is next week!

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Twelve: Nowhere Else To Go

* * *

_Relief and surprise produced a truly enjoyable sensation when they mixed and that sensation washed over Optimus when he saw the Autobot insignia gleam scarlet on the nosecone of the jet. Skyfire had arrived and the Autobots now had one up on the Decepticon Seekers._

_His relief died quickly, however._

_Spotting the newcomer as well, Megatron freed his right arm and the fusion cannon and released a volley of fire on the Valkyrie jet._

Optimus forced Megatron to the ground, but it was already too late. Skyfire was hit and going down, even as he tried vainly to pull up. Megatron laughed, long and loud. He grinned smugly at the Autobot commander.

"You're next." he said gleefully.

Primus himself could not have predicted what happened next.

There was a scream. It was a blood-curdling, energon-freezing scream that could make even the hardiest of mechs shudder in fear. It was a spark-deep howl of agony; of someone who had spent far too long pushing away a sharp pain and now it was coming out all at once.

And it was coming from Starscream.

Optimus watched in stark amazement as the Seeker transformed and landed, digging massive furrows into the sand, his face twisted in an expression of utter rage, his optics a bright, furious, blazing red. He raised his arms. The null rays warmed and the laser cannons hummed.

And he was not aiming at Optimus.

The Autobot leader flung himself away and covered his head with his arms just as Starscream emptied every scrap of firepower he possessed into Megatron, screaming incoherently all the while.

Ratchet stopped his work to stare and Sunstreaker shouted something incoherent, but it was very much what Ratchet was thinking.

Upon hearing their commander's screaming (and a shot to the wings each, courtesy of Ironhide), Thundercracker and Skywarp left off fighting the other Autobots and banked sharply, transforming on the fly and staggering on the landing. Skywarp just about fell over, but Thundercracker caught him.

"What's he doing?!" Skywarp asked, thoroughly lost and confused. He knew Starscream held nothing but loathing and resentment for Megatron, but surely this was going a **tad** too far?

"He's gone mad!" Thundercracker hissed, likewise confused but certain of that one fact.

"We gotta stop him! C'mon!" Skywarp made to run forward, but the blue Seeker wrapped his arms around his comrade to prevent him from running into the fray.

"No! Skywarp!"

"Starscream! _Stop it_! _STOP IT_!!"

"Have you _completely_ glitched?! It's too danger--"

"Megatron'll kill him! Starscream, stop it!"

Skywarp struggled to escape Thundercracker's grip. It didn't even occur to him to teleport. He was afraid for Starscream; that the Seeker would get himself killed.

The Autobots could only stare.

Then, all the thunder and screams and snarling energy, all the noise, simply stopped. Skywarp's last panicked shout faded quickly in the sudden silence. Optimus raised his head now, peering out from underneath his hands at the scene. Through a haze of smoke, he saw Starscream. The Seeker was still standing, but he was swaying and then he slumped to his knees. With hot air hissing from his vents, his optics went totally dark and he fell over, hitting sand with a loud, painful-sounding crunch.

Megatron was still standing, but he looked much worse for wear now. Great chunks of his armor were scorched and bubbling; smaller chunks had ripped away completely. Every joint was sparking and energon oozed down one leg, coating the metal. By all rights, he should at least be on his knees.

But he was still standing.

He wiped away the energon trickling down the side of his face into his optic and checked the damage on his body. Judging from his expression, he was more surprised than dismayed at what had been inflicted. Cautiously, Optimus tightened his grip on his gun and brought it ready to bear.

"So unwise." Megatron growled at Starscream's prone form and raised his fusion cannon again.

The weapon didn't even get the chance to whine. Three energy blasts pelted him at once. One of them had come from Optimus -- he simply would not let Megatron shoot Starscream, enemy or not; the Seeker was utterly defenseless -- the other two from Thundercracker and Skywarp. Caught off-guard, Megatron staggered, but caught himself.

"Don't even think about it." Optimus warned. He had the Decepticon leader at point-blank range, rifle barrel buried in one of the gaps in the silver armor, very close to a main energon line.

Megatron looked around and saw that every Autobot functional enough to hold up a weapon had one trained on him and even his very own Seekers were glaring at him with murderous rage, lasers primed.

Hmm... This was not favorable.

"The battle is yours today, Prime." Megatron growled. He had the air of one who had just done someone else a great favor.

"As the war shall be mine as well, Megatron." Optimus shot right back.

Without another word, the Decepticon lord stepped back and transformed back to his jet-mode and tore off over the dunes, leaving only a burning trail of heat behind. Very, very slowly, Optimus lowered his rifle.

The air around them quivered like a taut bowstring.

It snapped when someone let out a strangled cry.

In his efforts to free himself from the confines of the sand, Skyfire had transformed. He was sitting up now, staring with optics wide with shock at Thundercracker and Skywarp. He looked just as startled to see them as they were to see him.

Optimus looked quickly between Skyfire and the Seekers. A long-ago conversation came back to him and he suddenly feared for how this situation was going to unfold. He readied himself to jump in if it came to that.

"'Fire?" Skywarp whispered in a tone that sounded very much like longing mixed with a healthy dose of surprise; taking one staggering step towards the Valkyrie. But Skyfire surged to his feet and with a sound that was almost a spark-wrenching sob, he transformed back to his alt-mode and fled into the shimmering blue sky. Skywarp lurched forward to follow.

"Don't!" Thundercracker hissed, a restraining hand on the black and purple Seeker's shoulder. He gestured with his other hand to their prone commander. Skywarp looked between their commander and the rapidly disappearing speck that was Skyfire, obviously torn.

Optimus could see the decision being made. Shoulders and wings slumping in defeat, Skywarp trudged over to Starscream's side and kneeled. He laid a hand on one of the Aerial Commander's wings and took Thundercracker's wrist with the other. The blue Seeker nodded respectfully to the Autobot commander and then the Seeker trio was teleported away.

The tension bled out of the air.

That could have gone much worse.

Optimus scrambled to his feet and rushed over to his comrades. Ironhide gave him a sort of encouraging smile, but he was definitely looking worse for wear. Wheeljack was already poking the ugly gap in his shoulder armor, investigating the extent of the damage beneath, causing the Weapons Specialist to flinch every now and then. Jazz seemed to be in shock; he didn't seem to notice his commander standing over him. He was missing the armor on his chest, leaning very heavily against Prowl, his optics dim. Bumblebee looked to be the worst, as he was missing a leg and was unconscious.

"Everyone will live." Ratchet said in response to Optimus's unasked question. "But..." He looked around furtively, as if he was afraid of being overheard. "We've got no way of transporting them back to base. Bee can't transform like this and I don't think Jazz is any condition to transform either."

"Where is the Decepticon base?" Optimus asked.

"Just over the ridge-- Ow! Stop that!" Ironhide slapped Wheeljack's hands away.

"But it's flash-welded together!"

"And it hurts! Get your fingers outta there!"

Optimus sighed heavily. "We're too close to their base. Is there anywhere we can fall back to?"

"I didn't see anything along the way." Prowl replied, shaking his head. Ratchet merely sighed and set back to work.

"Can't you rent a trailer or something?" Sunstreaker asked blandly. He had sat down, tired of trying to balance on his mismatched legs.

"A -- trailer?" Optimus repeated. Of course! He could do that! Those things were big enough to hold at least two of them comfortably!

"Yeah, just hack into the phone lines and find a rental place--"

"Sunstreaker, I know."

"Oh... Right." The yellow mech shut up.

"Find some sort of shelter." Optimus ordered the rest. "It doesn't matter if Megatron has retreated; I wouldn't put it past him to try something in my absence. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Then he headed back to the road, returned to his alt-mode, and motored off to Salt Lake City.

* * *

"_Aaaarrrggghhh!!_"

Thundercracker flinched as Skywarp slammed his forehead into the rock wall over and over, screaming angrily.

"Skywarp--" the blue Seeker started tentatively.

"It was him!" Skywarp shouted, grabbing his head with both hands and smashing into the rocks again. "It was him! It was Skyfire! I saw him! It was Skyfire!"

"Skywarp--"

"I thought he was **dead**, TC!" Skywarp interrupted, turning on his friend. "We all did! Starscream **never** talked about what happened that day! How could he keep something like that from us?! Skyfire's alive **and **he's an Autobot! How come Starscream never told us?!"

"Maybe he didn't know!" Thundercracker shouted before the black and purple Seeker could go on. "He thought Skyfire was dead too! That was why he never answered our questions about that day!"

"But Skyfire's alive!" Skywarp shouted. That seemed to be the most important thing. "He's alive! He's alive and Primus knows how many times we must have shot at him! Our friend, TC! Our friend! He's the reason Starscream never wants to fill the second-element leader position! He's the reason Starscream's been dreaming so much lately! The reason he's been skipping out on recharging! TC!" The Seeker grabbed his friend's shoulders, his optics shining brightly with unshed fluid. "TC, Skyfire's alive!"

Thundercracker could only stare at his friend. He could feel his processor working double-time to keep up with Skywarp's words, replaying what he remembered of the battle, trying to fill in the gaps...

It had been... surreal. One second, he'd been pummeling away at those Autobots and then he'd seen something large and silver bearing down on him. He hadn't recognized the Valkyrie form; his only distracted thought was that it had to be an enemy. Gunfire crackled angrily and the newcomer had dropped from the skies, trailing smoke. That was the only clear memory he could dredge up at the moment.

It wasn't until he'd heard Starscream's agonized howl that reality returned.

It felt like he had snapped from a dream back to the real world in one instant. Pit, even the memories of the battle were already blurring together.

Thundercracker had not understood why Starscream was throwing everything he had at Megatron, but he certainly hadn't been about to let Megatron get in a cheap shot.

And then he had seen Skyfire.

The feeling he had experienced... The closest comparison he could think of was "breathless". For far too long a minute, all he was able to do was gape like a star-struck sparkling. The shock had been broken when Skywarp had made a move and then Skyfire had taken off, looking nothing short of panicked.

"_Why did you stop me_?!" Skywarp suddenly screamed in anger, slamming his fists into Thundercracker's chassis, knocking him onto his aft.

"He was right there! We could have talked to him!" the Seeker went on, bristling with rage. "We could have finally found out what happened that day! Why did you stop me?!"

The canyon they had teleported to rang with Skywarp's voice. He glared at Thundercracker, vents heaving hot air out of his battle-heated systems and dragging in the marginally cooler air. He looked furious; mutinous if Thundercracker didn't know any better.

The blue Seeker drew himself together, bringing his knees up to his chest and staring levelly at his friend.

"You mean right there?" he asked with a quirked browridge. "Right there in front of all those Autobots?"

Skywarp deflated a little.

"There's a chance that they don't know about our connection to Skyfire." Thundercracker went on calmly. "They must have rescued him. But that doesn't mean he told them anything. This could be the first time they've heard anything about it."

Skywarp sagged, his anger bleeding away.

"It wasn't the time or the place." Thundercracker continued, though he shook his head in regret. "Didn't you see the look on his face? He was panicking. I don't think he ever expected to see us there. Or anywhere for that matter. And... We had Starscream to think about." he added, glancing over his wing.

Starscream lay a few feet away, completely shut down. Only the occasional twitch of his fingers assured the two Seekers that they hadn't lost their friend. But he was so deep in stasis, they weren't sure if he would pull out of it on his own.

Skywarp sagged further, shuttering his optics and running his hands over his face. He sat down beside Thundercracker and hunched forward, keeping his optics covered. They stayed like that for a full minute.

"My wings hurt." he whimpered at length.

"Mine too." Thundercracker sympathized.

"Whadda we do now?"

Thundercracker thought for a moment, hoping an explanation would appear. They had pretty much signed their own death warrants; firing on Megatron like that. No one landed a hit on Megatron without paying for it. If Megatron didn't blast them out of the sky next time he saw them, then one of the others would. Barricade had made it clear once that he harbored no love for any Seekers and Soundwave would simply act on Megatron's orders. They couldn't go back to the base.

That left them with two options.

Option number 1: stay right here in this canyon.

Thundercracker really didn't like that option. There was a very real chance that Starscream could die if he didn't get any medical help and Thundercracker's medical knowledge was extremely limited. He could patch up a bad cut in the middle of the battlefield and have it hold out long enough to get it treated by a medic, but he knew squat about how to treat severe energy depletion. And given the extent to which he and Skywarp had been roughed up, they _all_ needed a trained and qualified medic.

Option number 2: Go to the Autobots.

As much as Thundercracker detested the idea of begging the Autobots for help, they had a medic on staff and quite a good one at that. Prime was merciful enough. He would keep that blast-happy Weapons Specialist of his from blowing their afts to pieces.

Really, the second option was the best.

Now he just had to convince Skywarp of that fact.

"'Warp, what about the Autobots?" the blue Seeker asked.

"What about that them?" Skywarp asked, hurriedly scrubbing the fluid from his optics as he looked up. Thundercracker gave a pointed look to Starscream. Skywarp immediately shook his head.

"N-Not a chance! We're Decepticons! They'll tear us apart!"

"What if we told them we're defecting?" Thundercracker suggested, a sly edge in his voice.

"Are we?" Skywarp asked weakly, sounding half-hopeful, half-terrified.

"Well..." Thundercracker shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't think we have much of a choice in the matter. The Autobots only **might** tear us apart if we go to them, whereas Megatron will **definitely** tear us apart if we go back... And the Autobots have a medic. We don't."

"I don't think it's a very good idea." Skywarp muttered, looking away, but in Starscream's direction.

"Starscream needs help." Thundercracker pleaded. "C'mon 'Warp, I don't want him to die! And you don't either!"

"I know! I know! It's just..." He trailed off, staring at their commander and friend's prone form.

"It's just -- I don't know where the Autobots' base is." he finished, sounding sheepish.

Thundercracker couldn't help himself. He laughed. He really laughed; a deep laugh that shook his body to his wingtips. Skywarp's sullen and pouting look just set him off again and he doubled over, chassis starting to ache from it all.

"Shut up TC!" Skywarp snapped, crossing his arms and continuing to look sullen. "I really don't know where it is!"

"I think I do." Thundercracker said, still sniggering. Oh, he hadn't laughed like that in ages! Maybe not even since the war started. "I overheard Barricade telling Soundwave about a city called Tranquility. The Autobots have some human allies living there, according to him. I wouldn't be surprised if they set up base somewhere nearby. All we have to do is look around. We're bound to find it. Worse come to worse -- they've always got someone out here spying on us -- we can just follow their scouts back from the air."

"All right." Skywarp climbed to his feet and flexed his arms. "I don't have any coordinates to work with, but I might be able to get us within spitting distance."

Thundercracker relaxed quite a lot. They had a plan. Whether it worked or not was anyone's guess, but it would do for now.

* * *

Acquiring a trailer had turned out to be even a more onerous task than Optimus had expected.

Sure he had called ahead to let the rental company know of his request, but this particular company required the renters to show up in person and sign a few papers. Optimus had panicked slightly with that. This particular company was the only one within a reasonable distance of his Autobots' position and while he didn't feel comfortable leaving them alone for longer than was absolutely necessary, he didn't have much choice. The problem was, though, his holoform was still fuzzy and incorporeal and still passed through walls as though it was a ghost. But when he pulled into the parking lot and activated his holoform, Primus must have been smiling on him. His holoform had been as every bit corporeal and functional as Jazz's and Bumblebee's.

Optimus had signed the lease forms with a false name and pulled an obscure phone number right out of his aft and prayed that the men behind the counter wouldn't run a background check.

Primus's divine intervention held through on that part.

Then Optimus had to wait a full hour and fill out a completely nonsensical questionnaire while the workers searched for a free trailer and inspected his protoform for whatever obscure reasons they had. He'd been straining to maintain his holoform by the end of the hour, but had been wholly grateful that he hadn't been able to feel the men's hands all over his protoform. By the time he'd been able to shift functions back to his protoform, he'd felt distinctly violated.

The weight of the trailer seemed to pull on him, slowing him down, even though Optimus was pushing his speed as much as he could without breaking the limit. He hadn't heard anything from anyone, though Prowl had probably insisted on maintaining radio silence until they were safe back at the base. That was perfectly understandable as they were very nearly on top of the Decepticon base and only 20 miles from Salt Lake City.

So how Starscream had refrained from attacking the city was a mystery.

What was wrong with Starscream was an even bigger mystery but not one that Optimus wasted any processing power on at the moment.

His comrades had taken refuge in a shallow canyon. It was a little difficult to navigate a way down, but he managed it in the end and pulled up beside them.

Ratchet had patched up what he could, but he wouldn't be able to make any real repairs until they got back to base. Bumblebee was still unconscious, but Jazz seemed to be a little more aware than when Optimus had last seen him. He actually looked up when he heard the engine, but he didn't seem to entirely comprehend it. Those two were loaded into the trailer and Ratchet jumped in with them to keep an optic on them.

"_Prowl, what's our status?_" Optimus asked wearily after the remaining ones had transformed and were heading back to the road.

"_Ratchet has not said much, but Bumblebee's injury looks bad._" Prowl replied grimly. Optimus groaned faintly. "_Jazz only needs to spend a day in stasis-lock; his CPU needs to be rebooted._ _Ironhide just needs to have his right shoulder joint separated and a patch-job done on his armor. Sunstreaker is simply being Sunstreaker, so any complaints about the prosthetic, the discoloration on his aft while in alt-mode due to the prosthetic, and the lack of his brother's presence are entirely normal. Myself and Wheeljack are relatively unharmed._"

"_And -- Skyfire?_" Optimus asked.

"_I've tried several times already to establish radio contact, but he's not answering._" Prowl said.

"_Give him time._" Optimus advised.

"_I've only just remembered that Skyfire was friends with the Decepticon Seekers before they became Seekers._" Prowl admitted, sounding just a bit sheepish. "_And sometimes I forget that he wasn't involved in the war from the beginning._"

"_He adjusted well, despite learning that his three best friends are among the best fighters the Decepticons have._" Optimus said. He could still distinctly recall Skyfire's reaction to learning that fact. It hadn't been pleasant, neither to watch nor endure. The poor mech had been a mess for days.

"_Perhaps not so much now._" Prowl said thoughtfully. "_After the earlier debacle, I can't imagine Megatron welcoming them back to base with open arms._"

"_We'll see Prowl._" Optimus said. "_We'll see..._"

The four-hour drive brought them back to the base in the early evening hours. The sun was glowing orange and sitting low on the horizon and Optimus felt his spark give a leap of relief. They had made it back in (relatively) one piece. For some unknown reason -- and Optimus was not going to question why -- the Decepticons always gave them enough time to complete their repairs before the next attack came.

Maybe they thought that there was no sport in beating enemies who couldn't even fight back.

Or more likely, they needed to get themselves fixed up as well.

Oh, but he certainly not going to question why.

It was the grace time that they needed.

The trailer had to be unhitched before Optimus could transform and with a scowl, Sunstreaker set about to that task. Ratchet and Ironhide were too busy extracting Bumblebee from the trailer and Jazz was too unsteady on his feet to walk without assistance.

"Well... That was fun." Ironhide commented sarcastically once he had returned outside, Prowl trailing after him.

"I wouldn't have called it fun." Sunstreaker retorted. "That sand got _everywhere_." He ran a hand over his other elbow and groaned. "I can feel it grinding in my joints."

"Quit you whining! You're not missing a chunk outta your shoulder!"

"I'm missing a leg!"

"Shut up, you two!" Prowl intervened, in no mood whatsoever to deal with this. Part of him was sort of glad that Sideswipe was AWOL, otherwise he'd just be egging his brother on, someone would get hurt and then Ratchet would have **more** damage to deal with. There would be wrenches flying everywhere.

Mercifully, the yellow twin and the Weapons Specialist fell silent.

"Ironhide, what's the status of the Decepticons as last you saw them?" Optimus asked. He was watching the sunset, as he was wont to do these days.

"Jazz used a flash grenade, so their optics are fried. No medic in their ranks means that they're not getting repairs done anytime soon." Ironhide explained, grinning, looking very, very happy. "Soundwave and his cassettes are all out of commission. So is Barricade and those three Seeker bastards. Megatron's been sidelined too." He grinned wider. "Today has been a very good day."

Because he'd finally been able to shoot something.

Then there was a loud snapping noise; far too loud to be caused by any of the local nighttime wildlife. It had come from just around the corner of the building. Still running on the "adrenaline" rush of the battle, Ironhide promptly fired a warning shot into the ground near the source of the noise. There was a squeaky yelp.

"Come on out!" he shouted, cannons still humming. Sunstreaker and Prowl reached slowly for their own rifles, though Optimus made no move for his own.

"There are four of us here. You're outnumbered." the Autobot commander said. "If you surrender peacefully, we will be willing to negotiate."

Nothing happened for half a minute and then a mech stepped slowly out of the shadow of the building. Weapons instinctively snapped up to the ready.

Thundercracker raised his hands.

"I surrender."


	14. Chpt13: Fire and Ice

**A/N:** There's a sort of funny story regarding this chapter. There's a scene with Skyfire in here and while I was writing it, I realized that I had no idea how Skyfire was going to react to the situation with the Seekers. Absolutely no idea whatsoever. So I stopped writing in the middle of a sentence. Then, I proceeded to write a backstory that had been lurking in my head for a few weeks prior. I came back to Chpt 13 three and a half days later with a fresh outlook on the Seekers. This backstory (then) consisted of seven chapters and 48 pages all written in three and a half days. Yes, I ate, slept, and took bathroom breaks, but you can call me crazy anyways.

If you would be interested in reading this backstory, please go to the poll in my profile and let me know.

Chapter contains flashback-age. In italics. Please remember to blink.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Thirteen: Fire and Ice

* * *

_Thundercracker raised his hands._

"_I surrender."_

"YOU!!" Ironhide roared.

"And I resemble that 'Seeker bastards' remark." Thundercracker added with a scowl.

"What are you doing here?" Optimus asked cautiously.

Thundercracker opened his mouth to reply, but cut himself short. Then he reached over and dragged a highly reluctant Skywarp into view. Optimus blinked and narrowed his optics. Was that a flowery white bed sheet tied to a tree branch?

"Heheh... We surrender?" Skywarp waved the makeshift flag meekly.

"You surrender?" Optimus repeated, more for clarification. This _had_ to be the only moment in the war's long, long history that he could recall a Decepticon coming to him, hands raised and waving a white(ish) flag. A distant part of his spark flickered with giddy hope -- there was still a chance for peace! -- but the rest of him was only trying to get over the fact that this _wasn't_ a trick.

"Yes, we surrender." Thundercracker confirmed. "We surrender and we--" He cut off and grimaced. "I can't believe that I'm actually saying this." He put a hand on his forehead. "We need your help."

"Like we would help you Decepticon scum!" Ironhide growled. "You're beyond help!"

"Medical help!" Thundercracker snapped. "I've got this heat rash on my wings that hasn't gotten any better, thanks to you trigger-happy mech!"

Skywarp leaned back to check his friend's wings.

"Look, I didn't like the idea of begging you lot for help." Thundercracker admitted, crossing his arms. "If it were only up to me, I wouldn't have bothered, but..." He trailed off and grimaced again. Skywarp picked up the slack.

"We don't want Starscream to die." he said in a small voice, tugging on one of the knots of the bed sheet.

That phrase went right to Optimus's spark and hung here, echoing amidst the countless memories of compassion and bravery he had seen among his own followers. Prowl, Sunstreaker, and even Ironhide exchanged looks that were suddenly doubtful. Decepticons maintained a well-deserved reputation of being ruthless, uncaring fighters. To them, "friendship" was little more than a temporary alliance to be discarded when convenient or when it had lost its usefulness. The only thing that kept them truly united was fear of Megatron and the common goal of destroying the Autobots.

That was what all the Autobots knew to be true. But the one thing even Optimus had forgotten to consider was that out of all the Decepticons, the Seekers -- including Skyfire -- shared a life-long friendship that extended far, far back, before even the war. Optimus was one of the few mechs left, Decepticon or Autobot that still knew of that bond. It appeared that it had held strong all this time and Optimus suddenly found himself in admiration of the Seekers.

The only question was... would Starscream return the favor once he woke up?

"Your weapons. Power them down." Optimus ordered of the Seekers.

The two Seekers proceeded to pull out a small handgun each (likely for an emergency) out of their subspace compartments along with some grenades and tossed them all at Optimus's feet. A quick scan showed that the pair had long since powered down their main weapons.

He turned away slightly and pressed two fingers to the side of his head.

"_Optimus to Ratchet._"

"_What?_"

"_Can you spare a moment? We have Decepticon defectors._"

"_...Say __**what**__?_"

"_It's the Seekers. You might want to come outside._"

"_...Be there in a sec._"

Optimus turned back to the Seekers. Thundercracker looked somewhat skeptical and Skywarp had raised his white flowery flag a little higher, fear and hope and wariness written almost comically all over his face.

"Ratchet is coming out." he said.

Ironhide made a weird spasming motion and he gaped at his commander.

"Optimus! You're actually going to help them!?"

"Yes, Ironhide." Optimus replied calmly.

"But they're Decepticons!" Sunstreaker protested. "They're evil! They'll shoot us in the back when we're not looking!"

"Exactly!" Ironhide agreed with Sunstreaker, probably for the first time in both their lives. "Optimus, this **has** to be some kind of trick. Decepticons always have ulterior motives. This is something Megatron orchestrated to infiltrate our ranks!"

Prowl raised a browridge curiously.

"_He's starting to sound like Red Alert._" the SIC commented over the private line to Optimus.

"_Indeed._" Optimus agreed. "Ironhide, now--"

But Ironhide, trigger-happy Weapons Specialist and in Red Alert's absence, acting Security Director, was thinking with his cannons and not with his CPU like he should have been. The two weapons of mass destruction mounted on his forearms hummed and glowed. The two Seekers flinched and pulled back and Skywarp waved the flag furiously and Prowl jumped on Ironhide and Optimus restrained Sunstreaker and Skyfire dropped from the sky, transformed and stretched his arms out protectively in front of the Seekers.

"Stop!" he shouted. Some distant cricket chirped and no one moved. He looked at all the guns still pointed in his direction. "Please?"

"Stand down Ironhide, Sunstreaker." Optimus ordered in his _**I'm**_-the-commander-of-the- Autobots-so-no-arguing tone. He wasn't having this. Not here. Not now.

Ironhide growled somewhere in the back of his throat -- he did not like this one bit at all -- but backed down as ordered. Sunstreaker grimaced, but physically took a step back.

"Optimus, please." Skyfire went on pleadingly, frequently glancing over his shoulder; the end result being that he was looking at the Seekers more than the Autobot commander. "I know they're Decepticons, but they were also my best friends in the past -- maybe they still are -- and just -- out of old loyalty, I don't want them being shot at. If -- they're surrendering, just -- let them surrender."

That same cricket chirped again, entirely unconcerned by the drama that was taking place near it.

"Thank you!" Thundercracker said, very exasperated. "We came to surrender. Not to get shot at!" he added with a very pointed look at the Weapons Specialist, who glared right back.

"Skyfire," Optimus raised a hand. "You have nothing to worry about. We will allow them to surrender. _**Right**_, Ironhide?"

"Of course." Ironhide grunted grudgingly, crossing his arms and being generally old and crotchety.

At that point, Ratchet emerged from the doorway, looked at the scene in front of him and frowned.

"All right, what happen-- No, wait. Don't tell me. I don't even care." he decided, putting a hand in the air. "Just tell me who needs fixing."

The two Seekers looked a little flustered that they were actually getting the help they had come for, but quickly directed Ratchet around the corner. Skyfire cast a heavy look at his old friends and hurried away without looking back. No one stopped him.

Ratchet groaned when he got a good scan over the unconscious Starscream. The signs of recharge-deprivation were horribly clear and his energy levels were registering on the absolute bare minimum. Not surprising when one considered the damage he had inflicted on Megatron. He also appeared to have been shot in the back between the wings twice by a fusion cannon. Again, Megatron. It was amazing that he had been able to even fly back there. The shots had been aimed to be debilitating.

Ratchet could fix that if one of the other Seekers was willing to stand still long enough for him to get a good look at how everything was supposed to fit together. It was going to be several days, more likely a matter of weeks before Starscream fully recovered, depending on how their current supply situation panned out. He still needed to repair and reattach Bumblebee's leg as well as Sunstreaker's and Wheeljack would be tied up creating new chassis armor for Jazz and Ironhide's shoulder was still flash-welded together. That needed to get fixed.

And he knew Skyfire had gotten hit several times. He would have to hunt the Valkyrie down and see just how bad the damage was.

Not to mention that Thundercracker and Skywarp were both showing superficial damage all over their frames and Thundercracker had an ugly heat rash spreading across his wings that needed some attention badly.

But there was something else about Starscream that just shouted: "I'm a mess!" and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Finally though, he straightened up and turned to Optimus, the two Seekers hovering anxiously behind him.

"We -- really need the _Ark­_." Ratchet said in a tone that brooked no argument. "We need it now or he is not going to make it through the night. Guaranteed."

Optimus could already hear Ironhide making a derisive comment under his breath and the Seekers revving up for an argument, but he raised a hand to forestall it.

"Do what you can for now." he told Ratchet. "And you two," He turned to the Seekers. "Don't argue with him. Your commander is going to need your help as well if you want him to live."

They nodded furiously. Optimus stepped away while Ratchet made a short gesture to the pair and they moved forward.

Optimus already knew how to get the _Ark _down. They had four fliers with them now. Oh, he didn't quite trust that the two Seekers would bring it down in one piece and they were probably much too worried about their commander to be worrying about anything else.

But Skyfire had returned.

Optimus doubted that the Valkyrie had gone too far. Whether he admitted it or not, Skyfire was worried about his old friends. He would want to know if they were going to be alright. That why he had come to their defense in the first place. People who had given up on their friends just didn't do that.

He found Skyfire sitting in the dirt and grass just a little out of sight of the base, curled up in the smallest, most pathetic ball he could manage. The effect was ruined somewhat by the long, wide wings on his back. Optimus tried not to sigh; reluctant to alert Skyfire to his presence. The Valkyrie had never been comfortable around Optimus; always clamming up and giving stilted answers. Skyfire had difficulty seeing him as anything other than a respected war-leader or as the former co-ruler of Cybertron. Quite simply, he couldn't relax around the Autobot commander.

Optimus regretted that he wasn't the best mech for Skyfire to talk to right now, but Ratchet and Wheeljack were both busy, the two Autobots who could out anyone feel at ease with just a word (Jazz and Bee) were currently indisposed, Prowl just wouldn't get it (the nuances of emotions escaped him) and Sunstreaker and Ironhide simply weren't qualified. So that left only one choice.

"Skyfire." Optimus rumbled.

He saw the Valkyrie flinch at his voice.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked in a whisper.

It was a rather childish question, but Optimus knew where it stemmed from. Due to his years frozen in the ice, Skyfire was behind in mental and emotional maturity than others in his age bracket. True, he had grown up quite fast after learning that his best friends were Decepticons and killers, and being thrown aft-first into a war he'd never known about, but sometimes, the delayed development reared its head and Skyfire would be grappling for approval and acceptance.

"No Skyfire, I'm not mad at you." Optimus assured him patiently. "I'm not even disappointed with you. You did what was right."

"But they're Decepticons." Skyfire protested, the second thoughts finally hitting him. "And I saved them..."

"Because they are your friends." Optimus crossed the remaining distance and sat down next to him. The Valkyrie twitched at the close proximity. "Today, I saw something that I've never seen from a Decepticon before. When Megatron shot you out of the sky--" The Valkyrie twitched again at the reminder. "And you crashed, Starscream turned right around and fired at Megatron. He emptied everything he had and sent himself into stasis-lock. Do you know why that was?"

Skyfire straight ahead at the ground, blue optics never wavering.

"Because he saw his friend crash."

He shuttered his optics.

"And then, Thundercracker and Skywarp brought Starscream to us, asking us for help, albeit reluctantly." Optimus said with a gentle smile. "That's a loyalty that I've never seen among Decepticons before. Any other Decepticon would have left Starscream for dead."

Skyfire was silent for a long moment, his arms tightening around his knees.

"They aren't killers." he said at last in faintly defiant tone. "There was this one time... a retro-rat got into our dorm. Skywarp jumped onto his bunk and refused to come down for hours even after it was gone. Thundercracker barred the door so it couldn't get out and I helped Starscream corner it and he just scooped it up in his hands and carried it outside."

Optimus listened with interest. Skyfire had rarely volunteered information about his past friendship with the Seeker trio. Optimus had difficulty seeing a younger Skywarp cowering on his bunk from a retro-rat and the idea of Starscream taking it outside rather than blowing it to bits was beyond his processing capacity.

And Skyfire probably had just as much difficulty seeing his best friends as murderers. He couldn't reconcile the conflicting images no matter how hard he tried. Optimus understood the feeling. When Megatron had first turned traitor, he had refused to believe this his brother had become that. When Megatron had tried to kill him and had nearly succeeded, Optimus had been forced to swallow whole the ugly truth that he'd lost his brother for good. It was not a memory he enjoyed recalling.

However, Skyfire's station as scientist usually kept him far back from the front lines -- usually with Perceptor, who had been delighted to work with the young mech at last. The one and only time he'd been placed on the front lines -- it had been for an emergency retrieval -- Skyfire had seen the Seekers in action and afterwards, had begged Optimus to never, ever place him on the front lines as a soldier, ever. Optimus had complied. Skyfire had kept his head about him that one time, but there was no guarantee that he would a second time.

There was one thing that had always needled at the commander though, ever since that one time. Skyfire had been in clear view on the battlefield; a painfully easy target, but the Seekers had done nothing. They hadn't fired on him, but they also hadn't given any sign of recognition; flying right over him, never changing altitude or breaking formation. It was like Skyfire had simply been part of the rubble.

And it puzzled Optimus. Why had Skywarp and Thundercracker finally recognized Skyfire now? What had been the big difference with this most recent battle and all the ones prior?

"Perhaps..." Optimus started, easily sounding optimistic. "The old part of them still exists."

For the first time in conversation, Skyfire looked him in the optic. He looked hopeful, try as he would to suppress it.

"Skyfire, do you have energy to break orbit?" Optimus asked.

"I-- um, I think so. Why?" Skyfire asked, taken aback by the abrupt change in subject.

"The _Ark_ is currently in orbit around the moon and we have no one else who can reach it to bring it down." Optimus said. "As of this moment, you're the only one who can."

"Prime..."

"You missed Ratchet saying that if Starscream is going to survive the night, we need the _Ark_."

He swore he heard the decision click into place.

"Give me the access codes." Skyfire requested firmly.

Optimus managed not to laugh, but he did smile very widely.

Somewhere, Primus was laughing.

* * *

"_Skyfire!" _

_It was the worst day of his life_

"_Skyfire!!"_

_It had only been a research assignment. Just a simple research assignment. Only one trimester spent on a world that supported organic life. Just to take notes and write an essay for the Science Academy on how the organic life could survive, even thrive in extreme environments..._

"_Skyfire!"_

_That's all it had been. A simple research assignment. _

_Why couldn't it have stayed that way?_

"_Answer me! Just say something! Skyfire!"_

_He dug his hands into the crevices of the ice, pulling and ripping desperately. But the cold temperatures were working against him. The ice had already fused back into place. There was too much of it; too heavy._

_Why?! Why had he been able to talk Skyfire into coming up here?! __**He**__ was the one who wanted to fly up to the north, just to have a look at the pole. He'd never seen one before -- maybe they could justify the trip by including it in their report. And they'd been just fine; flying and laughing and generally having fun. The arctic winds had provided him a glorious updraft that he'd ridden as high as he could._

_And then he'd heard Skyfire shout frantically for help._

_He'd banked around just in time to see his friend crash nose-cone first into the ice, the speed at which he'd been going driving him right through it. The ice had settled back down almost the instant after his friend had disappeared beneath it._

"_Slag! Skyfire!"_

_He didn't know if he was pulling at ice or sand now, but he didn't know why he would be digging through sand-- No wait, there was sand. Why sand? Why was it warm?_

_He blinked._

_The cold and ice returned._

_He thrust his fingers into the deeper crevice he'd been able to dig out. His fingers were almost numb from the exposure to the icy cold. They were also smeared with energon, but he couldn't see where the cuts were. He couldn't even feel the pain._

"_Please, Skyfire, just-- just come up... You can do it, just come up..."_

_The wind continued to howl around him, the snow continued to fall, but nothing else happened. The ice did not break and he did not see the Valkyrie emerge._

_Skyfire was gone._

_For a long time, he refused to believe it; that he had lost his best friend in such a manner. He must have been sitting there for hours and hours, staring blankly at his energon-smeared fingers, but to him, he was staring down through the ice and snow, down to where he imagined his friend's body to be lying, coated in ice; a slick frozen tomb. He was numb; he couldn't think and he swore his CPU was starting to go into shut-down._

_That would be nice. It would be so nice to just black out. Maybe he would wake up and find out that this had been nothing but a dream. He would wake up to find that Skyfire had been hitting him with a datapad for the last few minutes in an attempt to rouse him; complaining that he recharged so deeply he might as well have been in stasis-lock. Of course, he would retort by saying that Skyfire used to have to recharge in the wash-racks for a while at the very beginning of school. And then Skyfire would throw something at him and they'd get on with their day._

_He wasn't sure if he blacked out, but the next thing he was aware of was a voice speaking to him, shaking him, asking him a question that he couldn't answer. He felt his hands get removed from the crevice and felt much stronger arms pull him to his feet. His legs were like rubber, refusing to straighten and take his weight._

_Maybe he blacked out then._

_The next thing he could remember was that his hands ached abominably and there was a mug of hot energon between them, a heavy thermal blanket draped over his head and shoulders. There were people moving all around him, but he paid them no mind. All he could see was Skyfire crashing, over and over again. The image wouldn't go away. He couldn't make it go away._

_Was it his fault? _

_It had to be! He was the one who had convinced Skyfire to come up north with him! If they hadn't gone, Skyfire wouldn't have crashed! They would still be down south, running from giant, six-legged organics that had a lot of sharp teeth and didn't like being woken from their recharge cycle!_

_Then there were some new voices, familiar voices. Voices that were questioning and kind and worried and fearful all at once._

_His fingers twitched when the energon was taken away. No... It gave him something to stare at other than Skyfire crashing. Then his aching hands were gently lifted and one of the voices spoke again. But the words sounded garbled and far away._

_A pressure appeared on his shoulder and he finally, finally looked up. Two figures were in front of him, one standing, one kneeling. It took him a moment to realize that they were his other two friends._

_He didn't hear the question, but he knew what they had said. They wanted to know what had happened to Skyfire._

_What could he say other than the truth? There was no point in trying to oil-coat it. They wanted to know, so they would know._

_But they would blame him for it._

_They would always blame him._

_He opened his mouth and spoke the two damning words that would haunt him for the rest of his life._

"_Skyfire's gone..."_

* * *

Starscream thrashed.

"Whoa!"

"Easy! Easy! Hold him down!"

"OW!"

"Hold him down!"

"I'm trying! I just got hit in the nose!"

"Grab his arms!"

"Don't let him damage his wings any further!"

Skywarp practically flung himself onto Starscream's chest, shoving the struggling jet back down. A nasty crunching noise was heard. Ratchet winced.

"If I have to remove his wings just to repair them properly..." he started warningly.

"It'll be fine." Skywarp assured him. "Seeker's wings are built to take a lot of punishment. Most vulnerable parts of our body, actually, so we really had to reinforce them."

"Really?" Ratchet raised a browridge. "Interesting."

Thundercracker shot his fellow Seeker a filthy look from the other end of the repair berth where he was holding down Starscream's legs. The red and white Seeker jerked, a strangled cry issuing from his vocalizer.

Ratchet pulled a rather large (even for a mech) hypodermic needle out of nowhere, or so it seemed. Thundercracker -- who secretly had a crippling fear of needles, though it would be your spark on a pike if you found that out, unless your name was Skywarp, Starscream, or Skyfire -- froze, his optics tracking the tip of the needle as Ratchet brought it around. The medic pinned down one of Starscream's arms, peeled back the protective covering of the elbow joint and stuck the hypodermic into the now-exposed secondary energon line. He depressed the plunger; ignoring the fact that Thundercracker was cringing. It was just a painkiller/sedative, something he was running annoyingly low on at the moment.

Slowly, Starscream's thrashing ceased and he went limp as the sedative took effect. Tentatively, the Seekers released their restraining holds. Ratchet carefully withdrew the hypodermic and casually tossed it at Thundercracker. The blue jet yelped and jumped away from it like it was a rabid retro-rat.

"Oho, afraid of needles, are we?" Ratchet said with a smirk, amusement coloring his voice.

"Don't spread it around!" Thundercracker shouted threateningly. "And shove it up your intakes 'Warp!" he yelled at the laughing jet.

At that point, Ironhide barreled into the room, cannons humming loudly and about to shoot a jet in Ratchet's defense. He faltered when he saw that the blue Seeker was actually glaring at his black and purple comrade and Ratchet looked extremely amused. The medic turned and fixed a Glare o' Painful Death on the Weapons Specialist.

"Uh... Sorry." Ironhide snapped his cannons into their offline positions and hurried out of the medbay. Ratchet rolled his optics in exasperation while Skywarp burst into a fresh wave of giggles. The medic was starting to notice something unusual regarding the behavior of the two Decepticons, though he kept his observations to himself for the moment.

"_Optimus to Ratchet._"

"Ratchet here." the medic said, turning away from the Seekers to confer in relative privacy. The two jets turned away as well and ignored the medic.

"And if this is about Ironhide being trigger-happy, I already know." he added, eliciting another wave of giggles from behind him.

"_Skyfire's gone to retrieve the _Ark_. He's already on his way. I've gone with Prowl to investigate a potential landing spot about 20 miles south of the base. Sunstreaker and Ironhide have decided to stay behind, as you may have guessed._"

"Are you sure Skyfire has enough energy to break orbit?" Ratchet asked worriedly. The hits he had taken earlier had looked ugly. He heard the two jets shift behind him.

"_He says he does. Anyways, I wasn't in much position to stop him._"

"Optimus, what did you say to him?" Ratchet asked, now frowning. He hated it when soldiers did something stupid in the name of honor or valor or some other hopelessly overrated virtue. It more often than not ended in a great deal of welding and patching and cursing on his part. He hated it even more when _Optimus_ inadvertently goaded them into doing something stupid in the name aforementioned overrated virtues.

"_Just enough to motivate him. He'll be fine._"

Or knowingly goaded them. That was even worse.

"He had slag well better be." Ratchet said threateningly. "Because if he isn't, I'll be pulling the parts from **you** to repair him."

He cut the communication there and turned around only to find the two Seekers staring at him like they had been hanging on his every word. They quickly turned around and proceeded to ignore him again.

Ratchet huffed. Quite friendly, indeed.


	15. Chpt14: Buried Beneath Crimson

**A/N:** Holy Primus... I must have put this chapter through the wringer half a dozen times and it almost didn't make it out in one piece. Honestly, this one has given me all sorts of conniption fits of the worst kind. It's had problems from day one and I rewrote the first two sections four bloody times at least. Never, **ever** post the first draft kids. Wait until you've beaten it into submission with a large stick, torn it apart with a red pen and then put it back together, piece by piece.

Now before I turn you loose here, I just want to say this again: Keep an open mind. I assure you that not everything is exactly what it seems to be and _**nothing**_ is ever easy. All I ask is that you sit back and watch the events unfold. When it comes to writing _Transformers_ fanfiction, I've learned one thing. Apply Murphy's Law: Whatever can go wrong, **will** go wrong, at the worst possible moment. If you can turn a bad situation even worse, do it.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Fourteen: Buried Beneath Crimson

* * *

The _Ark_ was a massive ship and very, very old. It had been built to resemble a cargo transport on the outside, making it the largest battleship in the Autobots' fleet and even today, it still was. Every room and facility was double the size than it was on a normal battleship as it was supposed to be able to house the entirety of the army and then some. Back in the days of the Second War, the army had consisted of quite a number of mechs. The _Ark_ still followed the same basic layout of any other battleship; war-related rooms and systems on one half; recreational rooms and living quarters on the other.

The main weapons were 16 cannons on each side, all concealed beneath panels that had the ship's name, I.D. number (which was that of a cargo transport), and the official intergalactic insignia for Cybertron. It had slipped behind enemy lines many times undetected, so it had been a very valuable ship in many past battles and skirmishes.

At the time it had been built, it had been utterly state-of-the-art; the very pinnacle of Cybertronian technology. War technology at its absolute best. Even when the Second War had ended and technology outstripped what had been initially installed, the High Council refused to retire the _Ark_. With every new advancement made in armor, weaponry and tactical efficiency, the _Ark_'s systems had been upgraded until the whole ship was a mechanic's dream (or nightmare) of mish-mashed technology from nearly every generation of the war.

The _Ark_ was not officially grounded until the newest technologies simply could not be made compatible with the ship's patchwork systems. Even so, the ship had found a place in the sparks of more than one Wheeljack wannabe tech, and they were determined to see it return to the skies, so the ship became an experiment of sorts. Nearly every piece of alien technology that had been discovered was integrated with the _Ark_'s systems to see if the alien technology was compatible with Cybertronian technology. The experiments had finally stopped when strange coral-like structures had appeared to be _growing_ in the _Ark_'s lowest levels after one such integration of foreign and Cybertronian technology.

And then, with the advent of an A.I. program that was nearly equal to the intelligence of any mech -- this program had been installed in ships such as the _Artemis _and the _Axalon_ -- the _Ark_ had at last been deemed completely obsolete. It was subsequently shoved to the side, out of the way where no one would trip over it and from then, it was forgotten about for the most part. The only time it ever saw use after that was when the Iacon base was low on storage space. The _Ark_ had served as a "storage closet" for some time; an unfitting fate for the proud ship. But that was how it had been.

When the Purge of Cybertron had happened, Optimus's final orders to his troops had been: "run, wait for further transmissions and for the love of Primus, leave me a ship." Upon arriving in the launch bay with his team in tow, Optimus had been extremely pissed to find that it was empty; that they couldn't get off Cybertron and the Decepticons had been rapidly closing in on them. And then Bumblebee, being the clever scout that he was, had discovered the _Ark_ parked in the lower level launch bay. Ironhide had been skeptical about taking the _Ark_ ("That hunk of scrap is older than me!"), but it had been their only choice at the time.

The _Ark_ had served them perfectly on their whole trip to Earth. Sure it had creaked sometimes, a few doors had been known to get stuck and the onboard computer, Teletraan 1 was subject to system crashes, but in the end, the _Ark_ had made it. It was a good ship; particularly when they discovered it was full to bursting with extra supplies that had been transferred there before the war by an absent-minded supply officer.

Prowl had chosen a good spot to put the _Ark _down. It was far enough from civilization that it would go unnoticed and close enough to the mountains. Though the _Ark_ could probably hold most of the Autobot forces comfortably, they could expand the base to extend underneath the mountains, if it came to that.

True night had fallen by the time the _Ark_became visible in the atmosphere; an array of softly glowing lights among the stars, slowly, gradually moving downwards. The clouds were thin and wispy, but numerous and a light mist had settled over the area with the setting sun.

With any luck, any human peering out their windows right now would just think it was one of their own aircrafts heading for the airport in Reno. Or a convoy of jets heading south towards Nellis Air Force Base. Prowl barely had any experience with the human race, but he'd gathered if they were given a good enough explanation, they would just take it at face value and not dig any deeper.

Up at the helm was Skyfire. Prowl had spent the last ten minutes talking the Valkyrie through the steps to bring the _Ark_ down. It had to be done manually and the Valkyrie was tired now, so it was going slow. The stress of recent events was beginning to catch up to him and a majority of his energy had gone into breaking free of Earth's gravitational pull. Prowl had to remind himself that few mechs had a battle-computer as lightning fast as his and could not contemplate 76 different situations at the exact same time. Skyfire could only concentrate on one step at a time at the moment and he was not going to crash the ship because Prowl had confused him.

He had said this in such a snarky, sarcastic 'don't-slag-with-me' sort of tone that the tactician had been quite taken aback. It occurred to him that over the course of the next few weeks, they were probably going to be seeing a whole different Skyfire than the one they were used to.

The chosen spot was a two-mile wide gorge that was shallow as far as the Autobots were concerned. Optimus and Prowl stood at the lip of the gorge, looking for the ship, waiting for it to become visible in the darkness. But even after it should have started appearing, they didn't see it.

"Skyfire?" Prowl tapped his comm. "What are you doing? Where are you?"

There was quiet static from the other end and no answer.

"He's not responding?" Optimus asked, feeling something akin to dry fear. Prowl shook his head and continued to try and bring the Valkyrie up over the comlink.

The Autobot commander scanned the night sky again. The _Ark_ probably could have crushed both the states of Rhode Island and Connecticut with ease, so it was very, very difficult to miss. He looked around and around and finally saw it in the distance. So did Prowl.

"He's off-course. Very far off-course." the tactician hissed, folding back to his alt-mode. He took off across the scrub grass and desert. Optimus followed not a moment later and gunned it, the diesel engine roaring through the night.

The _Ark_ continued to descend. Its speed didn't waver, making both mechs wonder if it was gearing up for a crash-landing or Skyfire had just zoned out big time. Half their sensors remained trained on it until it disappeared behind a rise of mountains on the far north side of Tranquility. They felt a brief tremor through their shocks and, for a moment, thought that maybe the _Ark_ really had crashed.

They passed by an abandoned cattle-grazing field, complete with a rotting wooden fence. The blip that designated the _Ark_ was on the other side of the mountain range and it took a great deal of scanning and searching and backtracking before they were able to find a narrow, dusty dirt track that led through a gap in the mountains. It looked like it might have been a farmer's path for his tractor, but it had evidently been abandoned for some time.

When they found the _Ark_, they also found a surprise.

There was no real evidence that the _Ark_ had crashed, but it was buried beneath the mountain range. _Very neatly_ beneath the mountain range. So neatly, in fact, that the only evidence that it was even there a shadowed gap in the rock-side at the end of a shallow, winding canyon.

"Well... It doesn't look like it crashed." Optimus commented. If he knelt down, he could just see the ship's massive thrusters in the shadow of the rock. "How do you suppose this happened?" he asked Prowl, but the tactician was preoccupied with keeping his logic processor from shorting out.

They found a way into the canyon and walked up to the back entrance of the _Ark_. The exterior lights were beginning come up as the ship came fully out of stand-by mode. Optimus stepped over the threshold and placed his hand on the cool metal of the ship.

"I was still young when I heard this, so I'm not exactly sure if it's true or not." he started, running his hand over the smooth surface. "I heard that one of the pieces of technology that was experimented with the _Ark_'s systems came from the Kaster system."

As expected, Prowl snorted.

"Prime, forgive me, but don't be an idiot." he said with another snort. "The Kaster system ceased to exist before the _Ark_ was built. Everything created by its people disappeared along with it."

"I'm aware of that and I was still a sparkling myself when I heard about it." Optimus said, venturing a few steps into the tunnel beyond. "Still..."

Prowl walked over to join him at the entrance.

"I may brand myself a hypocrite by saying this, but Kaster system technology is the only explanation I can think of off the top of my head for -- this." he said, looking into the interior and waving a hand to indicated the entirety of the ship.

"It maybe possible." Optimus said. "During the trip to Earth, there were many times where we were certain that _Ark_ was aware of what was going on inside and around it, even though it didn't have that A.I. program."

"That may have a result of the mishmash of technology shoved in its systems." Prowl added flatly.

"Indeed."

They didn't speculate on the matter any further than that. What was done was done; so long as there was plenty of room for all of them.

Prowl went ahead to check out the rest of the _Ark_ and check on Skyfire. He fully expected to find the Valkyrie in recharge. Optimus returned to the other base and had himself re-hitched to the trailer to transport Ratchet's patients to the ship. Ratchet was happy to have access to a fully operational, fully-loaded medbay again and Wheeljack almost salivated upon hearing just how many misplaced supplies were sitting in the cargo bay and all around the ship. After weeks of choking down the gritty stuff, Sunstreaker was very much looking forward to having real energon again and it was firing range that Ironhide wanted to get back to. And Thundercracker and Skywarp... The only things they were grateful for was the fact that no one was shooting at them and the idea of being able to recharge in real bunks.

To be honest, the idea of recharging in a real bunk sounded wonderful to **everyone**.

And the icing on the cake, recent satellite imagery showed the Decepticons had actually **retreated** from Earth. A B-2 stealth bomber and an Olympic-class Cybertronian jet had been seen blasting out of the atmosphere as fast as possible an hour earlier with some very odd-looking cargo; which, upon closer inspection, had turned out to be Barricade.

But, as Ironhide had pointed out, most of the Decepticons had suffered significant damages and with no medic on hand to repair them, Megatron had clearly decided that wiping out the Autobots and the traitorous Seekers had taken the back-burner to repairing all injuries ASAP. At this very moment, the Earth was Decepticon-free.

Life was finally starting to look up.

* * *

Life was looking down.

Sam was grounded and it was all because his car had chosen an inopportune moment to disappear for an undeterminable amount of time.

It wasn't his fault, he had tried to explain to his parents through his bedroom door, that his car was actually a giant alien robot from outer space and that it had a mind of its own and that it liked to go for a drive on its own sometimes and that he really had no control over it.

Upon hearing that, his parents had made him pee in cup and said cup was taken to the hospital to be tested for drugs. Judy already seemed half-convinced that her "sweet baby boy" had acquired the pricy Camaro through considerably less than legal means. Such as selling drugs on the bad side of town. Sam had been subsequently bombarded with mental images of himself as a drug lord and the resulting fit of laughter had gotten his cell phone taken away.

The cell phone had come back after his parents had gone to sleep, but it still didn't change the fact that Sam hadn't seen Bumblebee since Wednesday. He knew that on Tuesday the two new arrivals had finally made it to Nevada and the other day, Bee had said he was going to go say "hi" to them and that he'd probably be back later in the evening. Except that he hadn't come back Wednesday night, nor at any point on Thursday and it was now Friday morning and the teen still didn't have the faintest fragging clue what was going on.

Sam was still somewhat half-asleep when he heard someone was knocking on the door downstairs. Vaguely, he remembered that both his parents were at work and there was no one else to get the door. Yawning, he dragged himself out bed and blindly slogged downstairs to the front door, bouncing off a few walls along the way. His eyes felt glued shut. He pulled the door open.

"If you're selling anything, I don't want it..." he informed the person on the threshold while scrubbing the grit from his eyes.

"Nice look Sam. Very fashionable, that."

Sam's eyes snapped open. Standing on the porch was Mikaela, trying not to smile, but her mouth kept twitching. But Miles, standing a little behind her, had no such reservations and was laughing his ass off, clutching his sides to keep them together. Then he remembered that he was only wearing his smiley-faced boxers -- a present from his grandmother, honestly -- his hair was a mess and there was a small robot sleeping in it.

Well, how was that for embarrassing?

15 minutes later when Sam was appropriately dressed and groomed, hair sans tiny robot, he was trying not drown in a bowl of Froot Loops and milk; still not completely awake. Worry had kept him awake until very late last night.

"Wonder why they call 'em 'Froot'?..." Miles was saying thoughtfully. He had skipped out on breakfast to come over as soon as possible; because Sam hadn't been answering his phone and he'd gotten paranoid. "They're not very fruity. They taste more like... fruit that died and got brought back to continue existing as dried-up fruit zombies."

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Sam wondered, drowning a poor red Froot Loop in the dregs of his milk.

"Probably." Miles shrugged.

"Sam, what's going on?" Mikaela asked. She had not eaten breakfast yet either, so she had helped herself to the healthier alternative of Raisin Bran.

"Bee's missing." Sam replied. "Well-- Maybe not 'missing'-missing, but he said he was gonna be back on Wednesday night and-- y'know, it's Friday now, so..."

"New guys showed up the other day, right?" Miles asked, examining his reflection in the back of his spoon. Was he getting a zit?

"Yeah."

"Maybe he just got caught up reminiscin' or somethin'."

"Yeah..."

"Sam, don't worry." Mikaela said reassuringly, taking his hand. "If something happened to Bee, then Optimus would be sure to tell us."

"I know." Sam sighed heavily and proceeded to drown the red Froot Loop again, only to have LG snatch it away. The mini-mech glared at him, holding the piece of cereal protectively. Then he tried to eat it. Clearly, this didn't work and the cell phone hacked it up a few seconds later.

All three of them jumped when a car horn honked twice from the driveway. They shot over to the window to see who -- or what -- it was. Parked in the driveway where Bumblebee normally was, was a posh-looking, dark gray car that had no driver.

"Think that's one of the new guys." Miles commented. "Let's go."

"I can't, guys. I'm grounded." Sam told them.

"So what? C'mon." Miles grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Sam gave up and went to hunt down his shoes. At least he would figure out what was going on and why Bumblebee was taking so long in coming back.

The gray car popped its doors open when the trio of teens and one mini-mech approached. Taking that as the invitation, Sam jumped into the driver's seat, Mikaela on the passenger's side and Miles made himself comfortable in the back seat.

"Ooh, comfy." Miles remarked, bouncing experimentally on the cushioning. "So which one are you? The crazy one or the insane one?"

There was a hiss of static from the radio speakers as the car pulled out of the driveway; as though the Autobot didn't quite know how to respond that that.

"Miles!" Sam groaned admonishingly.

"What? I wanna know!" Miles replied defensively, spreading his hands. "I wanna know if he plans on ripping down the road at 200 miles an hour and splatter us all on the pavement in a pile of pink goo!"

The engine gave an ominous rev. Sam hoped that the Autobot wasn't going to speed up just to spite Miles's words.

"Guys!" Mikaela thankfully intervened. "Hi." she said to the dashboard. "I'm Mikaela and this is Sam and Miles."

"Miles, huh? They told me to watch out for you." the Autobot said.

"He-e-ey... You watch it. I can slash your tires." Miles warned, poking a finger at the dashboard.

"Nice to meet you too. I'm Wheeljack." the Autobot replied. "Optimus asked me to come and pick up you lot. Seems I'm the only one who isn't laid up with injuries, making repairs, making reports or stalking the Seekers."

"Repairs? What happened?" Mikaela asked, instantly concerned. From Sam's pocket, LG uttered a low whistle.

"Five words: Megatron with a fusion cannon. I'd love to know where he got his hands on one of **those** babies."

"Megatron?!" Sam repeated, horrified at the idea of the metal monstrosity being up and about and well-enough to wreak havoc again. "But I killed him! I saw him die! He nearly squished me too in the process! I was a hero, wasn't I?"

Hell, he was pretty certain that Megatron was dead.

"No, you only put him in terminal stasis-lock." Wheeljack corrected. "He wasn't dead; he just -- looked dead."

There was silence in the cabin for a moment.

"So, he was like in a coma or something." Miles deduced, leaning over the front seat.

"...Pretty much." the Autobot said. "Good news is, though, between Jazz and-- uh-- someone else, Megs has gotten his aft whooped. The Decepticons haven't got a medic, so they retreated off the planet. They could be gone for a while."

"Oh... Well, that's good." Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey, we're goin' the wrong way." Miles observed, his head rotating rather comically as he watched the usual turn-off pass them by.

"No we're not. No we're not. New location. You'll see."

The rest of the trip was spent with Wheeljack picking their brains for as much information about Earth and its history as they knew. The area they were heading into was considerably more mountainous, but then they turned off-road to a track that looked like it had been hastily formed just last night, bumping and jolting the whole way.

"Did you guys set up a new base somewhere around here?" Mikaela asked, peering out the window.

"The silo wasn't working for us anymore." Wheeljack said. "Too small, too many of us, not enough supplies, and plenty of injuries."

"I guess Bee is one of the injured?" Sam asked, having come to that conclusion a little while back.

"I wasn't there when it happened, but it looks like Megatron blew his left leg off at point-blank range."

"_What?!_"

Wheeljack winced. Just one human could reach amazing decibels, but three of them together... Ouch. Well, Bee would be happy to know that his human friends had been quite worried.

"He's fine. Jazz saved him." the inventor assured the three human teenagers. "Ratchet was working on him when I left. ...Course... That still leaves Jazz, Ironhide, and Sunstreaker to some extent and-- er... Well, that's about it, really."

Again with the hedging. Sam was beginning to suspect that there was something important Wheeljack was purposely leaving out, but he kept his questions to himself for the moment.

The dirt road wound around into a dry riverbed which led into a canyon and high rock walls -- high enough to conceal the Autobots with little effort -- rose on both sides. The canyon was wider at the bottom than it was at the top. Sam suddenly found himself wondering if there was enough clearance for a jet to get through and when he realized that the thought had come to him, he shook it away. What an odd thing to think of.

Wheeljack continued to follow the winding path of the canyon until they came to the entrance of a tunnel of some sort. Within it, a shape could be made out, but there was enough shadow that it was hard to discern completely. The car doors opened again and the three teens got out and gave Wheeljack some space.

The Autobot inventor transformed and straightened up. He stood almost as tall as Ratchet, but with fin-like protrusions on the sides of his head and a mask concealing the lower half of his face.

"Hop on." He kneeled down, his hands cupped together. The fin-like protrusions had flashed a pale blue with his words. "It's a mess in there right now. Wouldn't want you to get lost."

"Mess" was somewhat of an understatement. Hundreds of crates were stacked one on top of the other almost up to the ceiling in the bay-area they had just stepped into. Some of the crates had obviously been moved around, as they were strewn across the floor in a decidedly unorganized manner; others opened and ransacked for whatever they had held.

"Welcome to the _Ark._" Wheeljack told the teens cupped in his hands. "The oldest, largest battleship that hasn't been used in years and the biggest storage closet that everyone forgot about."

He took them down the massive corridors, which were just right for the Autobots, past the occasional opened crate until they found Optimus. He was speaking quietly to a slightly bigger, silver and red mech that Sam had never seen before. It was at least as tall as Optimus, perhaps a little taller and had large, wing-like structures on its back. He remembered that Bee had mentioned -- albeit somewhat vaguely -- that the Autobots had a few fliers in their ranks. This guy must have been one of them.

There was also a third mech leaning against the wall with its arms crossed. It had a black and white coloring and door-wings like Bumblebee. This one noticed Wheeljack's approach and signaled Optimus. Optimus dismissed the silver/red flier, who left looking sort of depressed but also relieved to leave and booked it the hell away, and turned around to greet the three teens.

"Sam, Mikaela, Miles. Welcome to the _Ark_." Optimus said with a massive smile. He looked like someone had just handed him Megatron's head and the promise for ever-lasting peace on a silver platter.

"Is Bee okay?" Sam asked before he could stop himself. He couldn't help it. He was worried.

"He will be fine." Optimus said, nodding. "I trust you've become acquainted with Wheeljack already?"

The three teens glanced up at the mech in question, who seemed to smile at them behind the face-mask.

"And Prowl, my Second-in-Command." Optimus gestured to the black-and-white mech, who nodded shortly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I would stay longer, but I need to start inventory of our supplies." he said. "Or else it's never going to get done."

"I'll help." Wheeljack offered and carefully deposited the humans into Optimus's hands and then followed after Prowl. Optimus transferred the trio to his shoulder and started in the other direction.

"So who was the other guy with the big wings?" Miles asked curiously, unknowingly echoing Sam and Mikaela's exact thoughts.

"That was Skyfire. He arrived just yesterday." Optimus replied.

"Doesn't seem very sociable." Sam commented.

"He's working through some -- complicated circumstances, at the moment. You'll have to forgive him." Optimus said, turning a corner. "He's also not very comfortable around me."

Why that was funny to the teens, they didn't know. It just was.

The Autobot commander stepped through a doorway that led into a room that looked very much like the reception area of a doctor's office, right down to the secretary-ish desk in corner. Through the doorway beside the desk and Sam caught a glimpse of gleaming, stainless-steel hallways before Optimus stepped in an open-air room across the hall where they were greeted by a gruff: "If you're not leaking vital fluids, go away." followed by a cheerful: "Hi Sam!"

It was some kind of clinic-area and on one of the tables was a very-much awake Bee, lying on his front while Ratchet worked on his leg. The medic looked around and seemed to relax a little at the sight of the commander and the three human children sitting on his shoulder.

"Hello you three." he said, looking up to greet them and then set right back to work.

Optimus walked over and set the teens down on the cart that was positioned at the head of the table. Sam flinched when he saw the state Bumblebee was in. His leg had been sheared off at the hip. Ratchet had been able to mostly reattach it, but the metal bones and all the wires and stuff were still exposed. The rest of Bee's armor was flecked with black marks and there was a fresh weld on his left arm. It was very clear that he had been through a battle.

"I'm okay." Bee said when he noticed the direction of Sam's stare. "It's not as bad Sunstreaker's. My leg still in one piece so Ratchet can reattach it."

"Although if you don't stop moving around, this won't weld as clean as you want it to." Ratchet warned, hefting the welder menacingly. "Now hold still; I can get this done faster."

Optimus leaned close to the medic.

"Where are they?" he asked in an undertone.

"In the back." Ratchet made a vague gesture over his shoulder. "If you're going to talk to them, you'll have to knock. They've locked themselves in. I think they got sick of Ironhide stalking them."

Optimus nodded and left the room, followed by curious/confused looks from the three humans and Bumblebee. The scout looked back to Ratchet.

"Who are you talking about?" he asked, sounding vaguely suspicious.

Ratchet stopped working for a moment, deciding that the welder shouldn't be on when he said this.

"The Seekers have defected."

"_What_?!"

"Who?"

"Starscream and his wing-mates." Ratchet clarified for the humans.

"You mean that Decepticon that looks like an F-22?!" Sam asked incredulously. He looked at Mikaela, hoping for an explanation of some sort, but she was in a similar state of shock as well. Miles just twiddled his thumbs and whistled an idle tune, being the only one present who didn't have prior experience with the Seekers. Bee seemed to be at a loss for words; just staring at the chartreuse medic as if he was the Unmaker himself.

"That's the one." Ratchet said distractedly and went back to welding.

"They defected. Does that mean they're Autobots now?" Mikaela asked, working through the surprise.

"Well... They're not Decepticons anymore. I can say that much." Ratchet said thoughtfully. "It also means Megatron has lost three of his best soldiers; which is good for us. I have to say though; they're very different out of battle. Thundercracker and Skywarp have turned out to downright friendly when you don't have to fight them."

Bee was still at a loss for words. He just couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"That's not very Decepticon-y, is it..." Miles muttered, eyeing the distance between himself and the floor. He and heights had never been on the most agreeable of terms.

"No, it's not." Ratchet agreed. "Any Decepticon in his right mind would not have hesitated to shoot us the moment we arrived back at the base; do the hostage bit instead of **asking** for help. Politely."

"Politely?" Bee finally managed to squeak out.

"They also wouldn't have gone and locked themselves in a closet." the medic added.

"Don't wanna come out of the closet, huh." Miles commented, fully aware of the double-meaning.

"Miles, please. Shut up." Sam requested while Mikaela face-palmed. The two Autobots decided that they were better off not knowing.

"So-- So-- They're here?" Bumblebee asked, a note of fear in his voice. "Right now?"

"Bee, we've been less than 50 feet away from Skywarp and Thundercracker for the last two hours." Ratchet said, much to the yellow scout's surprise. "Not once have they come running in guns a-blazing and shouting threats. Like I said, they're different out of battle. Which..." He shook his head. "Doesn't make any sense. It's like there's something else going on with them. Something..." His optics narrowed. "Something wrong."

He bent his attention back to Bumblebee's leg, seemingly unaware of the ominous chill his words had left in the medbay.

* * *

Ratchet released Bumblebee with a clean bill of health by nightfall, but he wasn't allowed to transform until the welds were set, so he also wasn't allowed to go back to the Witwicky residence. The armor on his hip still needed to be replaced, but that could wait until tomorrow when they had a better idea of what supplies they had on board.

The human teenagers had been taken back earlier when Sam had mentioned that he was grounded from leaving the house, so he'd needed to get home before his parents got home from work. He wouldn't stop being grounded until Monday, at which time he was expected to explain why his car kept going missing. Bee would try to be back by then so Sam could finally tell his parents the truth.

Ironhide's damages had been fixed up in a jiffy and he'd been sent on his way.

Measurements had been taken for Jazz's new chassis armor, but again, that would have to wait until they knew what supplies there were. For now, he was restricted to the _Ark_ as to not get anything unpleasant in the exposed innards.

Sunstreaker had been forcibly ejected from the medbay several times already.

The Seekers had been shooed from the medbay two hours earlier with the order to get some damn energon in their systems and then a full recharge. Their damages would heal faster if they didn't deprive themselves of the things needed to function. Ironhide had stalked them from the medbay to the rec room five corridors down in a fit of paranoia until Optimus sternly ordered the Weapons Specialist back to the Lennoxes for the night and had told Sunstreaker to go with him. There were enough suspicious glares going around already. In the meantime, the Seekers had fallen into recharge on the rec room couches.

Skyfire hadn't been seen since after their human allies had arrived. It was presumable that he had gone and locked himself in one of the quarters. Best not to disturb him.

Fine enough by Ratchet, so long as he was getting some rest and not aggravating his current injuries. He had avoided the medbay like plague, so the medic hadn't been able to get a look at what the damage was.

In the meantime, Ratchet had more than enough to keep his hands full.

If **any** mech had told him during the war that one day on an unknown and technically insignificant planet in the far corner of the universe, he would be using all his best medical equipment to save the life of a Decepticon deserter -- a deserter named **Starscream** at that!-- Ratchet probably would have laughed until he purged and then smacked the slagger for telling terrible jokes. But the truth of the matter as it stood was that he was well and truly worried about Starscream.

The red-silver Seeker was lying in a room that was meant to maintain the energy-critical patients until the repairs could be completed safely; a facility Ratchet was more than happy to have access to once again. Thanks to it, the Seeker had survived the previous night and would continue to survive until he was no longer energy-critical.

Ratchet checked the equipment set to monitor spark-pulse, energy levels, fluid pressure, fuel pump beats and just about every internal system that mattered. He found them all to be satisfactory except for the energy levels. They were sitting at just above the red and had been so since last night. That made absolutely no sense. Starscream should have recovered some energy by this time; especially due the repeated energon transfusions of a specially-formulated, medicinal high-grade.

But he had not; he was still critical; qualifying himself for a constant drip that didn't seem to be doing much good. Something was sapping the energy almost as soon as it hit his system. What particularly vexed Ratchet was that **none** if his scans showed anything wrong! By all rights, his systems were in perfect working order; there were no leaks in any of the lines, no defective pumps. There shouldn't be any reason for his energy levels to stay so dangerously low.

The only other thing really wrong with Starscream was the fact that Ratchet had to remove the Seeker's wings at the connecting servos. Those were badly damaged as well and they were just putting a strain on the Seeker's already weakened body. He knew Starscream wouldn't be too happy to find that his wings had been removed whenever he woke up, but it was for the better.

"What is wrong with you?!" Ratchet demanded of the unconscious Seeker in frustration. "I've been over you a thousand times with dozens of different scans and only the same two things show every time! What is zapping your energy so fast?!"

The medic glared at the energy level monitor, then at the set of wings tucked carefully in the corner as though they held the answer, and then back to the Seeker. He looked at the constant drip of glowing pink energon in its IV bag and down the tube that had been inserted in the energon line in the elbow joint.

And then he wondered: _Where is that energon going?_ Where was it flowing to first? Ratchet activated a different set of circuits in his optics that allowed him to see the flow of energon in a mech's body.

There it went; it entered the Seeker's arm and followed up his shoulder into the main fuel pump, but it didn't continue to the rest of the body. It didn't even touch the rest of the body. It was sent upward, through the neck and into--

_The CPU and processor._

Switching back to the normal-spectrum circuits, Ratchet hurried out of the room to grab a few tools, then back in, where he carefully levered the Seeker into a semi-sitting position and pried off the back panel of the jet's head, exposing the CPU; the brain. He switched back to the X-ray circuits and watched the energy flow again. It was gathering at a specific point on the CPU. On the normal spectrum, that point was a small, black patch that was an inch long and a half inch wide with four dark gray wires extending from the two widest sides. It didn't look like it belonged there. In fact, he noticed with a stab of surprise that almost felt like an electric jolt, it was integrated with the personality/behavioral module of Starscream's CPU.

_And it's parasitic. It's leeching the energy something fierce. I have to get rid of it_.

A dozen more scans were taken and nearly an hour had passed before Ratchet felt confident that he could remove the patch without damaging the surrounding circuitry. (Primus, Starscream was unbalanced enough already...) He made sure the doors to the medbay were locked and its comm. system deactivated. The **last** thing he needed was to accidentally put a surgical knife through the Seeker's CPU because Sunstreaker decided to pester the medic about his leg again.

The patch's wires had been inserted into tiny ports on the module, rather than the patch being fully integrated, but removing it was still a delicate process. It had been there for a long time, by the looks of it, and the workmanship was most excellent. Once it came off, a wave of energy rushed down through the rest of the Seeker's body, causing Starscream to visibly tense and then relax. Ratchet replaced the back panel and laid the Seeker back down. He checked the energy level monitor and was pleased to see the levels were rising, slowly, but they were rising.

"Now, to find out just what you are." he said to the patch, carrying it out of the room and into the area of the medbay that was situated behind the reception desk. There was a laboratory back there; a bit dusty from disuse, but still serviceable. There, he ran a full-scale analysis on it. Every line of code, every nuance of programming, he wanted to know **everything** about this little black chip. It didn't take long. As block after block of curving, pale-blue Cybertronian text scrolled over the screen, Ratchet realized that while its basic structure wasn't very complicated, the programming it contained was like nothing he'd seen before. And when Ratchet finally saw what the programming was designed to do, his spark very nearly seized up.

"_MEGATRON, IF I EVER, __**EVER**__ SET OPTICS ON YOU AGAIN, I WILL TEAR YOU CIRCUIT FROM CASING WITH MY OWN HANDS AND PRIMUS __**HIMSELF**__ WON'T FIND ALL THE PIECES BY THE TIME I'M DONE!!_"


	16. Chpt15: Promises Made

**A/N:** Phew, 'fraid of what you people would think about that. A chip in ol' Screamy's head. I half-expected a barrage of "that's too easy!", but I guess you know me better by now. That's cool. Because it **won't** be that easy!

A little note regarding character personalities, particularly for the up and coming characters. They're close to their G1 counterparts, but due to the nature of the story itself, certain aspects of some personalities have been tweaked to fit better. For example, Mirage (yes, there will Mirage) is a bit more accepting of the fact he has to fight in the war and such. And Skyfire-- well, in every G1 episode he's in, he doesn't really have much of a personality, I noticed. There will be similiarities, but you gotta remember that he is (mentally and emotionally) younger and less mature than the Seekers and most everyone else, so he's going to react differently in certain situations. That and I had to give him more of a personality in the first place.

Once more, this chapter contains a flashback in italics so please remember to blink.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Fifteen: Promises Made

* * *

Ratchet was mad. And when Ratchet was mad, you avoided the medbay like the Pit itself. You made absolutely certain you did not get yourself caught in the medic's unholy wrath. Even if it meant locking yourself in your quarters and cowering under your bunk like a sissy.

But today, Ratchet's unholy wrath was not directed at any of the Autobots, but rather at Megatron. This was not unusual in itself. Ratchet was often mad at Megatron for putting so many mechs in his medbay on a regular basis. But he was not often "Fires-of-the-Pit" "foaming-at-the-mouth" mad at the Decepticon lord. He did not often walk down the halls glaring at imaginary Megatrons with the special glare he normally reserved the Twins' carelessness/stupidity.

Everyone present on the _Ark_ -- even those in recharge -- had heard the medic's roar of rage and had cringed, glad that they weren't Megatron. Ratchet had replied to Optimus's questions only with: "Not now, I need to check some things. We'll talk in the morning when I've had the chance to calm down. Get everyone here for that."

So Optimus had. All except the defected Seekers were gathered in the conference room the next morning, wiping away the sheen of dust that covered every surface. Ratchet paced at the head of the room, arms clenched behind his back and his hands in tight fists. He still looked furious. No one dared break the silence.

Finally, Optimus worked up the nerve.

"Ratchet?"

The medic stopped pacing abruptly and held up a small black square between two fingers for all to see.

"Would anyone care to fathom a guess as to what this could be?" he asked, insidious anger seeping through his tones.

The silence hung thicker for a moment.

"It looks like a patch." Wheeljack ventured, reaching out to take it for a closer examination. "Maybe like-- a circuit bridge."

"Close. It's a behavioral modification patch." Ratchet told them, nearly spitting out the word 'patch'. "Essentially, a virus that is attached to and affects the personality components of a mech's CPU, changing them in specific ways under specific conditions. Such as battle."

Optimus suddenly looked much more attentive and Ratchet's optics came to rest on Skyfire sitting at the far end of the table. The Valkyrie sat up, looking confused.

"I don't how many of you have noticed the extreme difference in Thundercracker and Skywarp's personalities." the medic went on, looking around the table. "In battle, they're the ruthless fighters that we're familiar with. Out of battle, they're very different. Friendly, talkative, helpful even. Possibly more like the mechs that Skyfire is familiar with."

Skyfire shifted uncomfortably when everyone glanced at him.

"Are you saying that Megatron altered the Seekers' personalities to make them more vicious?" Prowl asked.

"I believe so. I found the same patches on Thundercracker and Skywarp as well." Ratchet opened his other fist to reveal two more identical black squares. "I pulled that one--" He pointed back to the patch in Wheeljack's hand. "Off of Starscream."

"They're not killers!" Skyfire burst out, slamming his fists on the table before anyone could say anything in response. "I kept telling you people that they wouldn't kill anyone! Not even a retro-rat! Starscream wanted to be a scientist! Not a soldier! He was the other student who accompanied me on the research assignment when I got stuck in the ice, in case Perceptor never told you that! Skywarp just wanted to be lazy, which is an odd choice for someone who also wanted to enter the Flight Academy... But he just loves to fly! And Thundercracker hated it when we fought among ourselves! He used to tell me and 'Warp off for getting into political debates! Okay, occasionally we would pull some punches on each other, but that was normal! You can't live in such close proximity with someone else without grinding a few gears!"

Skyfire was standing by the end, bent over the table, huffing angrily and glaring around the room, daring someone to say anything. Anything at all. It was clear that he had been holding this in for quite some time. Everyone else was just staring. Finally, slowly, Ironhide turned back to Ratchet.

"So... What does the virus patch do... exactly?" he asked.

Skyfire sat back down with a heavy thud and put his head on the table.

"For one, it increases aggression far beyond normal levels, particularly in battle situations." Ratchet explained, grateful for the change in subject. "It also appears to inhibit shall we say, the more 'merciful qualities', making the subject more willing to _give in_ to that aggression. And if that wasn't enough, it's parasitic. It will suck up as much energy as it needs to function, never mind if it's detrimental to the mech's well-being. It was actually killing Starscream."

Wheeljack was examining the patch with much more interest now and Ironhide was leaning over his shoulder out of sheer curiosity. Sunstreaker actually looked vaguely sick.

"Wait... Starscream was th' same outta battle as in." Jazz pointed out. "What's th' difference between his an' th' other two?"

"I don't know why, but the one implanted in Starscream was much more complex and invasive. It took me twice as long to remove his as the other two Seekers." Ratchet replied, shaking his head in remembered frustration. "They're all in stasis-lock right now and I had to reboot their systems. Thundercracker and Skywarp will wake up around mid-afternoon. Starscream will take longer due to his own injuries."

Optimus leaned forward and took one of the patches from the medic.

"This could very well be the cause of much of the fighting." he said, his voice simmering with anger. "How many other Decepticons have these implanted?"

"Who knows. It's not like we can just pin down every 'Con of them that comes our way and have Ratchet fiddle with their heads." Ironhide muttered, sitting back. Then he looked thoughtful. "Or could we?..."

"Ironhide..."

"Er... Soundwave might." Skyfire said, having raised his head.

"Soundwave?"

"Now that just sounds impossible."

"Uh... Maybe, but due to a clerical error, I had to room with some older students in my first two months the Iacon Lyceum." Skyfire explained uncomfortably. "Soundwave wasn't that bad, actually. He mostly just ignored me. The other two... Well, let's just say the triple-changers were just as obnoxious then as they are now."

"Good to know." Bumblebee muttered.

Optimus looked thoughtful, gazing at the patch in his hand.

"So... Basically what you're saying is, when the Seekers wake up again, they won't feel like killing us anymore?" Sunstreaker asked.

"For the most part." The medic nodded.

"I find that hard to believe." the yellow twin deadpanned.

"We'll know for sure once they wake up." Optimus put in. He stood up. "You're all dismissed."

"C'mon Bee. I can replace your armor now." Ratchet beckoned to the scout.

"Hey! What about **my** leg?!" Sunstreaker protested, surging to his mismatched feet. "This stupid fake thing is really starting to piss me off!"

"And what 'bout **my **armor?!" Jazz gestured to his exposed chassis.

"Talk to Wheeljack!" Ratchet tossed back, herding the yellow scout back down to the medbay.

Jazz and Sunstreaker turned to the inventor, who was almost cooing over the patch.

"Hmm? Sorry, I think I'm gonna be preoccupied for a while." he said and fled the conference room back to his lab.

"I'm gonna go make sure the shooting range is still working." Ironhide announced and hurried out.

"I'm going to continue inventory." Prowl said.

"I'll help." Optimus followed him out.

"I'll be in my room." Skyfire scrambled out.

Then the conference room was empty save for the saboteur and the yellow twin.

"I loathe you all." Sunstreaker growled.

"Me, you an' your bro; they jus' don't love us." Jazz said with a sigh.

"No, they don't."

* * *

Safely locked away in his quarters away from prying optics, Skyfire paced. He paced and he paced and he paced. He never stopped. It didn't occur to him that he was making a futile effort to keep up with the thoughts running rapidly through his processor.

He could still remember seeing them for the first time on the battlefield.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

"_Put one hand there and hold __**that**__ up with your other!" Ratchet instructed. "We have to get him stable before we can transport him back to base!"_

_A little leery about actually putting his hand __**inside**__ another mech, Skyfire put pressure in the gaping injury to cut off the gushing energon line and held up the barely- attached fragment of armor to keep it from severing another energon line. He didn't like it that at this moment, Hound's life was basically in his hands._

_It was his first time on the front lines and hopefully, his only time. It had been a surprise attack by the Decepticons and the Autobot troops had been blindsided by the sudden attack. They had fought back bravely, but then Megatron had whipped out his Seekers and the Autobots had retreated. Or at least, they tried to. This was retrieval; to get the worst injured off the battlefield and to safety._

"_How are you holding up Mirage?" Ratchet turned briefly to the sniper, crouched higher up in the remains of what had been a building about an hour earlier._

"_I'll be okay!" Mirage called back, briefly touching the energon-clotted gash marring his right leg. It wasn't life-threatening, but it definitely had to hurt._

"_Please hurry up Ratchet." Skyfire requested when he heard gunfire ringing much too close. The battle was still going around them._

"_I'm moving as fast as I can." Ratchet said, occupied with another grievous injury that was too close to Hound's spark casing for comfort. "Once I close this one up, I can move to that one."_

_Skyfire looked down at the energon starting to ooze over his fingers. He was soot-streaked and had smears of energon all over his arms and chassis from helping the other field-medics transfer the injured. Every injury had made him flinch or feel sick and every gunshot and scream made him cringe. His admiration for field medics and soldiers alike had grown exponentially over the last several hours. How they could move through all this and keep calm and collected amazed him to no end._

"_Ratchet! Seekers!" Mirage screamed suddenly in the most frightened tone Skyfire hadn't heard from the sharpshooter. Ratchet's head whipped around to the sky. Skyfire looked up and saw three achingly familiar shapes fly right over their heads. Tetrahedron jets._

_They flew with in V-shape but with a gap in their formation where the second-element leader should have been._

_One, the flight leader, was red and white with blue highlights._

_The second was black with purple highlights._

_The third was blue with red highlights._

_Ignoring the highlights, Skyfire knew those jets anywhere._

"_No..."_

_Ratchet punched his shoulder. Hard. Skyfire looked dazedly around at the medic. He felt weightless and sick. He felt like his spark had just seized._

"_Keep your head!" Ratchet shouted, shaking him again. "They're not the same mechs you once knew!"_

_Skyfire reluctantly tore his eyes off the three jets that had once been his friends and focused down on Hound. Mirage tracked the jets with his rifle, prepared to shoot if one of the Seekers came about._

_But they didn't. They passed over the four Autobots like they weren't even there; despite the fact they were clearly visible from the air; easy targets, painfully so. But no. The trine of Seekers passed them right by without so much as a glance and headed for the battlefield beyond. Ratchet shrugged and went back to work, grateful for the lack of fire in their direction. Mirage kept an optic on them for a moment but then went back to scanning the battlefield around them._

_Despite Ratchet's reprimand, Skyfire couldn't help but to crane his head around to watch his friends-- Could he even call them that anymore? He watched as they transformed with an efficiency and grace that he never knew they possessed, and waded into the fray of Autobots and Decepticons. He watched Skywarp grab an Autobot and--_

_Shoot him right through the spark._

_Thundercracker did the same to two more Autobots._

_Starscream bore down on another terrified mech who looked much too young to be on the battlefield, his optics bloodred and gleaming--_

_And then there was a scream and an explosion._

_The next thing Skyfire knew, he was doubled over and vomiting onto the floor of the medbay with no memory of having gotten there. One of the few femme medics left was at his side, rubbing his back and encouraging him to get it all out. So he did. In revulsion, rage, disgusted at himself, for he had actually fired upon his former best friends. _

_He was told later that he had saved the life of a young femme who'd been disguised as a mech, maybe only a few vorns older than Bumblebee. How she had managed to survive the Flotilla Massacre was a mystery, but definitely a miracle._

_Skyfire wasn't even able to feel happy about it._

()()()()()()()()()()()()

He had never forgotten the sickening feeling of seeing his friends like that; in the midst of a battle and _enjoying_ it. Honest to Primus, enjoying the carnage they were wreaking. It had been a sight he'd never wanted to see again. Ever. He would stab his own optics out before viewing it for a second time. And he had told Optimus this in such a deadly serious voice that he never saw the battlefield again.

He even still had their comm frequencies.

Skyfire had long toyed with the idea of contacting them over the comm. He would stare at those frequencies for hours, wondering if he should; wondering what he would say to them; wondering if those frequencies were even still valid. But every time he'd started to access them, he'd shut them down instantly, losing the nerve. He hadn't the spark to erase them either, so they remained there, taunting him with his lack of confidence.

He examined those frequencies now. They were registering as "inactive", because the three mechs in question were in stasis-lock. It comforted him a little to know that they hadn't changed their comm frequencies. Skyfire hadn't changed his own either. He couldn't bring himself to admit it, but he knew deep down it was because he was still hoping that one of them would try to contact him. Even as the war dragged on and he heard more stories of the Seekers' deadly ferocity in combat and more Autobots around him cursed their names to deepest layers of the Pit, he still hoped...

Behavioral modification patches. It seemed so strange and at the same, it made more sense than any other explanations people had offered to him. Starscream would no sooner kill a retro-rat than a mech. He knew that.

And Megatron--

Skyfire punched the wall furiously.

Megatron had taken his friends away from him. He had turned them into murderers; twisted them into something they were never supposed to be. Monsters with optics as red as blood.

A flicker drew Skyfire's attention. He looked.

Thundercracker's comm frequency had just become active. And Skywarp's followed shortly after.

* * *

"Uurrggh..."

The groan drew Ratchet's attention while he took stock of the storage cabinets in the clinic. He looked around and saw that Thundercracker was waking up, moaning like he was violently hung-over. Abandoning his inventory check, the medic strolled over to the groaning jet and ran a scan. Everything appeared to have rebooted properly.

"How are you feeling Thundercracker?" Ratchet asked, pausing along the way to check on Skywarp. The black and purple jet probably wasn't too far behind.

"...Like slag..." the Seeker groaned, putting a hand to his head. "What happened?... You didn't even tell me... You just grabbed me off the couch..."

"Ah... Sorry about that." Ratchet apologized gruffly. Given the mood he'd been in last night, he wasn't surprised he hadn't said anything to either of them. "Wait for Skywarp to come around and I'll tell the both of you then. I'd rather not have to repeat this."

"Okay..."

"Tell me something, though. Now that you're _persona non grata_ among the Decepticons, have you given any thought about possibly taking the Autobot insignia?" Ratchet asked, jumping on a curious whim that floated through his head.

"Have to get rid of **that** first..." Thundercracker jerked his thumb to the Decepticon symbol on the underside of his wings. "Defecting was kinda a last-minute decision, to be honest..."

"I'm sure you'll be welcome to stay here. Optimus wouldn't just toss you out on your aft to the tender mercies of Megatron." Ratchet said, leaning against another repair berth and crossing his arms. "As soon as we get Ironhide to stop stalking you."

"Prob'ly hafta save his aft t' get 'im t' stop..." came a semi-conscious mumble from Skywarp. Ratchet scanned the black and purple jet to make sure his systems had rebooted properly as well. "Hey doc... Whadja do to us?..."

"More like what Megatron did." Ratchet corrected.

"What did Megatron do?" Thundercracker asked, sitting up in a flash, his optics snapping open. Ratchet was suddenly at a loss for words, taken aback by the sight of the sapphire-blue optics that looked back at him now. Skywarp sat up, turning confused blue optics on the medic as well.

_Fascinating._ Went the more scientific portion of Ratchet's mind.

He spared no details regarding the behavioral modification patch; what it did to their personalities and how it was parasitic, leeching off their energy to keep itself running. The more he explained, the more Thundercracker glowered and the more Skywarp looked like he wanted to throw something.

When he finished, Ratchet watched the two of them carefully. With the patches gone, he couldn't predict how they were going to react. Their personalities were stable enough, but only time would tell.

After sitting for a moment with his shoulders and wings hunched, Thundercracker forced himself to relax.

"The upgrades." he said, shuttering his optics. "The medics must have implanted the patches when we were upgraded."

"Yeah-- Wait." Skywarp frowned. He turned to Ratchet. "You said Screamer had a stronger one than either of us. But he didn't start getting weird until a couple weeks after upgrades were completed."

"They called him back, remember 'Warp?" Thundercracker prompted. "Said one of his test results had come back corrupted and they needed to redo it, or something like that."

Skywarp nodded in understanding.

"Wheeljack's already studying the patches in more depth." Ratchet said. "We wouldn't be surprised if more of the Decepticon soldiers had this patch as well. If you can th--"

The door swished open. Skyfire appeared momentarily, but dove back out almost immediately. Ratchet walked out of the clinic and shoved Skyfire inside.

"I need to go check with Prowl on the inventory. I seem to be missing a few things." he informed them. "See you."

Then he left, leaving the three old friends to stare awkwardly without a word to say to each other.

Skyfire swallowed nervously. His fuel pump was in his throat. Damn fuel pump. It always did this when he got nervous.

He looked back and forth between Thundercracker and Skywarp's optics and it took him a moment to realize that they were actually blue, not the crimson red he had never quite gotten used to seeing. They stared back at him and they all waited for something to happen.

Then Skywarp lobbed an empty canister of energon at his head. It connected hard and sent him reeling back several steps.

"Dammit! Skywarp!"

The black and purple jet looked immensely smug.

"I told you that I was gonna throw that at you." he said, grinning.

Skyfire looked down to where the canister had fallen to his feet and picked it up. It was stamped with the crest of the Iacon Lyceum and had his name scrawled on the side in marking pen. His jaw dropped.

"You kept this?" he asked. "All this time?"

"Well..." Skywarp shrugged and rubbed the back of his head. "I told myself I was going to hang onto it until I saw you again, whether it was in the Matrix or on the off-chance you were actually still alive--"

"Wait, wait!" Skyfire cut him off. "You thought I was dead?"

"We all did." Thundercracker said. "All the professors at the Lyceum did and Starscream never talked about what happened. He was in shock when we saw him."

"He just said 'Skyfire's gone'. Nothing else." Skywarp said. "Had to talk to that one mech to get the whole story; the guy who took you both there."

"Twist? What did he say?" Skyfire asked, walking over to sit down at the foot of Skywarp's berth.

"Um... He picked up Starscream because his distress beacon went off." Skywarp said, thinking for a moment. "He said Starscream was just sitting there, probably where you had crashed. His hands were all torn up 'cause we think he tried to dig you out."

"Di-- Dig me out? He actually tried to dig me out?" Skyfire asked incredulously. "He wouldn't have succeeded! I fell through 3000 yards of water and ice! I was a fragging popsicle by the time the Autobots pulled me out! I was a complete mess! I was so stiff I could barely move! Pit, I was in terminal stasis-lock!"

The two Seekers cringed. Skywarp reached over and tentatively patted Skyfire's shoulder.

"Well-- you're not anymore, right 'Fire?" he said. Skyfire winced. It had been years and years since someone had called him by his nickname. He stared at the energon canister still in his hands.

It was true. He was no longer frozen. He was no longer in danger of dying at any second. He was safe. His friends were safe too, at last. But he wasn't sure of anything anymore. **They** had grown up surrounded by war and death. They had fought for their lives, had killed other mechs. How could Skywarp and Thundercracker treat him like nothing had changed?

And the promise to be best friends for the rest of their lives...

Where was that?

Then Skywarp hugged him.

It came completely from subspace, so Skyfire didn't have to opportunity to even think of dodging it. He was too taken aback by the sudden motion to react to it.

"You're a real jerk 'Fire." Skywarp informed him. "Making me wait so long just to throw something at you."

"Uh... You're -- ah -- welcome?"

Thundercracker tried to stifle his sniggers and failed. Skyfire and Skywarp looked up and then exchanged looks that were almost conspiratorial.

"Get 'im!"

The smile was wiped from the blue Seeker's face as his two friends tackled him and wrestled him to the floor.

"Ow! You're on my wing!"

"Take that!"

"Jerk! That was my optic!"

"I was **aiming** for your face!"

"Ouch!"

"My nose!"

"Wing! Wing!"

"Hey!"

"Argh!"

"My hand! Get off!"

"Eat wrench slagger!"

"Back off! I know where the welding torches are!"

"YOU'RE BOTH SLAGGING IDIOTS!!"

Ratchet winced as something went **crunch!** very loudly and he briefly debated running in there to break it up. **Only** briefly, however. Ratchet had seen wing-mates reunite after a long separation and it was best not to interfere. There were usually three stages to it.

Stage one was happening right now and it often consisted of an impromptu wrestling match. The wing-mates would just get used to being around each other again and re-establishing whatever hierarchy they had. Judging from the yelps Ratchet could hear coming from the clinic, it sounded like Skyfire was winning. If he was, then he had probably been the "second in command", so to speak, before his accident.

Stage two would often occur within a period of a few hours after stage one had passed. Hierarchy was re-established, but the wing-mates would often split up and avoid each other to the best of their abilities. That was a readjustment period and usually characterized by loud arguments, flying accusations and a whole lot of finger pointing. That was the wing-mates trying to get used to each other's habits and quirks again. This could last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, depending on the team. Considering the conditions in which this group was separated, Ratchet would not be surprised if it took upwards a few weeks for stage two to clear.

And then there came stage three, the final acceptance, where the wing-mates were working as a cohesive team again. It was stage three that Ratchet hoped would come quickly. While he was doing his best not to dwell on it, the desire to see Skyfire, Thundercracker, Skywarp and Starscream as a team again was strong.

He only hoped that it was just as strong for them.


	17. Chpt16: Transforming

**A/N:** Aaaahhh! I can't say that I'm sorry for the delay; it wasn't my fault. My beta got lost in _Avatar: the Last Airbender_ and that is a pretty addictive series. I can't blame her for that. Plus there was an extra scene she wanted to throw in and that ended up not cooperating with her (it bitch-slapped her, in her own words). So she sent it to me and I put it straight in the end. So it's all good!

Remember what I said? When was it; back in Chapter 8; when I said that this story had a few ideas that had never been seen before in _Transformers_ fanfiction before. Was I right or was I right? I'm feeling very happy at the moment. Knowing that people who are outside my immediate circle of friends love this story too just makes me feel all happy. And while I'm talking about people who love this story, please have a look at the story: **Sky, Snow, Fire** by SkyTarget. Apparently, this story inspired her so much that she wanted to write her own story about the Seekers/Skyfire friendship. Please encourage the crap out of SkyTarget.

Right, one little extra note. I'm sure a number of you have been wondering it and I don't think I really said it anywhere in the story. About Skyfire. It was not Earth where he crashed, but an Earth**-like** planet. Earth-**like**, got that? Everyone? Earth-**like**.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Sixteen: Transforming

* * *

Transformation.

It wasn't an unfamiliar word to Optimus. Their kind was able to change shape every day if they wanted. They weren't just mechanoids, but some kind of vehicle as well. It was part of who they were at spark; part of their very identity. The alt-mode helped define them. It was hard to have any faith in confidence in a leader who had an alt-mode that was tiny and putt-putted along, loudly belching exhaust.

Translation: He would never, ever say it out loud, but Optimus was vainly proud of his mechly alt-mode. Very befitting for a leader, it was. He had to agree with Sunstreaker on at least one point. Appearance was important, especially for a commander of a whole fragging army. He had an example to set.

But -- back to the original train of thought.

Transformation.

The word had a great number of meanings, but there was one that Optimus liked the best.

A change in form, appearance, nature, or character.

Over 260 vorns lost to this war and Optimus felt certain that the end was finally in sight. The light at the end of the tunnel. As the humans put it, every night has a dawn. He hoped that their light and their dawn was coming soon.

Yes, very soon...

"_Prowl to Prime?_"

"Prime here." Optimus sat up, causing the chair he sat in to creak. Was it just his imagination or did Prowl sound a bit confused?

"_Thank Primus, I had doubts that I would even get a signal through._" Prowl replied, actually sounding relieved.

"Ship-wide comms are still non-functional then." Optimus stated with a sigh.

"_Of course not. We've only had the ship for three days._" Prowl said, sounding irritable. "_Why did the comms go down when you put this bucket of spare parts into stand-by mode?_"

"It's old?" Optimus offered. It was the only valid excuse he had.

"_Old and chewed on. Turbo-rats must have gotten in here over the years._" Prowl griped. He didn't sound very happy. "_The lights on the lower levels don't work and there are teeth-marks on just about every inch of circuitry. Frankly, I'm just impressed that the _Ark_ flew at all._"

"Cybertronian technology at its best, Prowl." Optimus commented.

"_Outdated piece of scrap obsolete by the end of the Second War!_"

There was a metallic thud implying that Prowl had just thrown a foot at the nearest wall.

"_Although... I suppose that would be insulting to the Aerialbots, wouldn't it?_"

"Yes Prowl, it would be insulting to the Aerialbots." Optimus assured him. "What are you doing in the lower levels anyways?"

"_Believe it or not, I'm still working on inventory._" Prowl explained. "_Everything in the docking bay and cargo bay have been catalogued, but there's some six hundred vorns worth of supplies in here and it seems to have spilled over into the lower levels. On top of that, I think we might have a problem._"

"What sort of problem?" Optimus asked.

There was no reply for a moment or two.

"_One that we are going to need to take care of before it... wakes up._" Prowl finally answered in a lower voice.

"Prowl--"

"_It's not going anywhere at the moment, but I think it's prudent to take care of it before too much longer._"

"Prowl. What is it?" Optimus asked. "What did you find?"

"_Ah... At this point, I'm not certain as to what it is, but I think you may have picked up a hitchhiker or two on your way here._" the tactician answered. "_I'll seal off the lower levels for now. I believe it can be safely ignored for the time being._"

"We'll look into it later then." Optimus decided. He was only a little surprised that they had picked up a hitchhiker. There had been some very weird planets that they had visited. Whatever it was, it could have come from anywhere.

"_Optimus! Prowl! Where the frag are you two?!_" Ratchet's voice snapped over the comm lines.

"_Lower levels._"

"My office."

"_Get to the medbay._" Ratchet ordered. "_Wheeljack and I have stumbled across something in that virus chip's programming history that you oughta see._"

"We'll be right there." Optimus said, surging to his feet and hurrying out.

* * *

The medbay's laboratory was now dust-free and as sterilized as they could make it. Both Ratchet and Wheeljack had taken a place in front of the computer; both lounging in chairs.

"What did you find out about the programming?" Optimus asked, eyeing the screen filled with column after column of text. The top of a diagram could be seen at the bottom of the screen.

"Something that's possibly good news." Ratchet replied, swiveling around. "Pull up a chair; this might take a little longer than we thought."

When Optimus and Prowl had settled themselves comfortably in their own chairs, the medic went on.

"We pulled the programming apart; down to its most basic components and Skyfire was able to run the log of its history. That's how we found it."

"He never said he was good at programming." Wheeljack said thoughtfully. He waved a hand. "Anyways, we found a few discrepancies in the history."

"Elaborate on that." Prowl requested.

"One sec." Ratchet clicked a button, bringing up a split screen; each side looking nearly identical to each other. "These are the displays for Thundercracker and Skywarp's chips. Just take a look at them."

Optimus and Prowl looked over the columns of text. In some parts, it was readable but in other parts...

"It's corrupted." Optimus realized. Indeed, several sections were pure gibberish.

"Why is it corrupted?" Prowl asked, facing the inventor and the medic.

"Why? It's evidence that they were fighting the programming. See the corrupted parts?" Wheeljack pointed them out. "The programming failed here, here, here, here, and here. And this is just over the last month or so."

"There is some time elapsed between each one, but there's no way to tell for how long the programming was suppressed." Ratchet said. "With the strength of the virus, I'm frankly impressed that they were able to fight it at all."

"It was a conscious effort?" Prowl asked curiously.

"When I removed the patches from them, I also took the liberty of scanning their CPUs for any abnormalities." Ratchet said, bringing a different window on the screen. "They have all the standard firewalls, the software upgrades given to them over the course of the war and such, and there turned out to be no drastic changes to their core programming. Do you know what that means?"

"You'll have to enlighten us Ratchet." Optimus said, spreading his hands in an entreating gesture.

"It means they were sparked from a bond-pair; all three of them." the medic explained. "And that means that their core programming is set. There was no way Megatron could have messed with that without destroying their minds."

Prowl was already nodding. "Hence the reason for the patches. The logic is so sound, it's almost disgusting."

"Precisely." Wheeljack nodded, arms crossed.

"We only have a vague idea of what the Seekers were like before the war and if you take Skyfire at his word, evidently they were fairly decent." Ratchet went on, lacing his fingers together. "What I've seen so far from Thundercracker and Skywarp has only served to reinforce that idea."

"Ratchet, at this point, you have the best, most-unbiased opinion." Optimus said. "How would you describe Thundercracker and Skywarp?"

"Decent." Ratchet said with a shrug. "They haven't given me any trouble yet. But that does have potential to change. Right now, I think they're just worried and maybe a little scared."

Optimus nodded, understanding, though maybe not completely. He understood there was often a strong bond between groups of fliers. At least, that's what the Aerialbots had said, but the Autobot Commander was going to take them at their word as it was the only one he had. It seemed the Seekers were no different. They were worried over the state of their flight leader and afraid that they would lose him irretrievably. That was a perfectly well-founded fear.

"Anyways, back to the original topic, I also found that they both have a set of firewalls that held the chip's programming in check." Ratchet continued. "As near as we can tell, their virus only activated in battle; when they knew they had to act a specific way."

"So they brought the firewalls down." Prowl stated.

"Except I don't think they realized what they were doing." Ratchet said. "The patches _were_ implanted without their knowledge."

"But what does that mean for their mentality?" Optimus asked. "We won't have to worry about them relapsing, will we?"

Ratchet sighed heavily. "We won't know _that_ for certain until we can see them in a battle situation. But no, I don't believe so, at this juncture."

"Thundercracker and Skywarp weren't constantly under the patch's influence." Wheeljack added, swiveling back and forth in his chair. "Meaning their primary personality is still mostly intact. They'll handle the change easier."

"And what of Starscream?" Prowl asked, echoing Optimus's exact thoughts.

"Still too early to say." Ratchet replied heavily. "Skyfire's still pulling apart the encryptions on Starscream's chip. It's taking so long because he's out of practice, but once he's finished, I think we'll have our answers. Unfortunately, the problems don't end with virus patch. His internal systems are showing signs of bad stress. They're still on the mend from being consistently deprived of the required levels of energy. Any longer with the way he was and I don't think he would have made it. This isn't the first time that Starscream's been deprived of recharge or energon either."

"How do you know that?" Optimus asked. He knew Ratchet was good, but was he **that** good?

"Simple. I asked Thundercracker and Skywarp." the medic replied smugly. "According to them, Starscream didn't bother taking care of himself after Skyfire had crashed and they say he never fully got over it. And apparently, whenever he's badly stressed, he doesn't recharge very well and energon doesn't stay down. All that piled onto the stress the chip was putting on his body over the vorns..."

He let it hang.

"It must have been torture." Prowl said softly. "Torture of the worst kind..."

Optimus felt a furious anger boil over in his spark. Megatron implanting virus to make a mech want to fight was bad enough, but to inflict torture of that kind... Mental torture was not a practice the Decepticons had actively engaged in. They rather preferred tearing down the body first, whereas the Autobots preferred to break down their strength of will. (They had done this by one of two methods. One: sending Bluestreak down in the brig to just talk and usually by the end of the day, the Decepticon captive was willing to give up some tidbit of information if it meant that he didn't have to listen to the gunner chatter on anymore. And two: sending Sunstreaker in just to glare at the captive. Having Sunstreaker glare at you unblinkingly was highly unnerving. It was alarming how well these two tactics worked.)

The Autobot commander knew that he never should have put it past Megatron to try something like this. What would Starscream be like once he had recovered physically? Would he be the mech he'd been prior to the war?

Or would he simply crack all over again?

* * *

The "problem" Prowl had stumbled across in the lower level of the _Ark_ was two, sticky pod-like cocoons attached to the ceiling about half the size of themselves. There was a slightly rotten smell pervading the entire room. Ironhide's whole posture suddenly shifted from not-caring to wary and disgusted the second his laid his optics on them.

"Do we stand back an' let him have at 'em?" Jazz asked, ready to dive out of the way. Optimus slapped a hand down on the saboteur's shoulder to keep him from running.

"Ironhide, what are those things?" Optimus asked.

The big black mech made a growling noise.

"If I tell you, can I still shoot them?" he asked, something akin to revulsion seeping through his tone. "Seriously, you don't want those things getting loose on Earth."

"What are they?" Optimus asked again.

"Vipera cocoons." Ironhide replied, strolling over to the sticky pods. He placed his cannons on the very top part of the cocoons and fired point-blank. Jazz and Optimus flinched at the cold-hearted treatment, but the Weapons Specialist didn't bat an optic, leaving the cocoons to go up in flames and the smoke to filter out through the vents.

"We fought them in the Second War." he said as he walked out. "And it was kill or be killed. So don't throw a hissy fit."

The crackle of the flames was the only thing heard for several long minutes.

"Y'know, sometimes I forget how old he really is." Jazz remarked, jerking a thumb towards the door.

"So do I, Jazz." Optimus agreed. "So do I."

* * *

Once upon a time, Skyfire had had a very shiny and exceedingly helpful book-file full of many, many different programming codes that included detailed explanations of just what these codes did and how they worked; along different methods on how to work past firewalls and password encryptions. He'd also had a datapad full of his own notes and tips on just how he could twist these codes around so that they would perform the opposite of their intended job or make the hacking methods much more effective.

The only problem was now was that Skyfire no longer had either and no amount of rifling through his subspace compartments had caused them to magically turn up. He had quickly deduced that he had left them behind on the _Artemis 1_ and lamented the loss. He was working purely from a somewhat patchy memory now; trying to fill in the gaps; uncertain if he entered the right command code or not; feeling certain he was just causing the encryptions to work harder to keep him out. He wished he still had that book and all his notes, but there had been no time to retrieve them. Pit, he'd barely gotten away from the _Artemis_ with his wings intact.

For what felt like the billionth time, the words '**ACCESS DENIED: INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN**' flashed at him in their annoyingly red colors, teasing him. Mocking him, Primus-dammit.

Something inside Skyfire curled up and withered away and his upper body slumped forward; his forehead just missing the keyboard as it hit the desktop. He lay there for several long moments, feeling his shoulder joints slowly unkink themselves, letting his thoughts drift.

260 vorns. That was how far back the programming in Starscream's virus patch dated. The chip itself was much more recent, and had obviously been upgraded as technology advanced, but it still contained a record of each version of the virus from the very first one.

_260 vorns… That's nearly the __**entire length**__ of the war… No... That __**is**__ the entire length of the war._

Skyfire's hands clenched in sudden anger, and he picked his head up off the table again. Tiring and time-consuming as it was, picking apart the encryption on the chip's programming awarded him a sort of vengeful satisfaction. He couldn't make Megatron pay personally for what he had done (not yet, at least), but he would do everything in his power and beyond to help his friends.

Not five minutes later, he was banging his forehead on the desktop, groaning with each successive thud. '**ACCESS DENIED: INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN**' had come up for the billionth and one time and he was just about ready to scream.

"Looks like I got here just in time then." came Thundercracker's amused voice from somewhere behind him, causing him to shudder a bit; he really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, not even his wing-mates. "Any progress?"

"No." Skyfire groaned into the desktop. "And if I have to look at even _one more_ line of glowing squiggly computer text, my optics are going to burn right out of my head."

"That bad, huh." Thundercracker patted his wing sympathetically. "At least have some energon, okay? You've been at this all afternoon."

Skyfire glanced up as a brimming mug of steaming energon came to rest next to his head.

"I remember you having this really bad habit of not getting yourself any energon because you were thinking too hard." Thundercracker said, leaning against the desk and studying the digital computer screen taking up most of the wall space before him. "And honestly, you haven't gotten any better about it."

Skyfire swiped the energon into his hands and practically buried his face in the mug because he didn't feel he had the energy to lift it up.

"Let's do a little math here TC." the Valkyrie started once he had surfaced. "I was frozen for how long?"

"245 vorns?"

"Yeah, and that's a long time to be in suspended animation." Skyfire replied. "And what vorn would it be now back on Cybertron?"

"Ah..." Thundercracker had to think for a moment. "2.0277, right?"

"Now subtract 2.0255." Skyfire instructed. Thundercracker did and came up with the answer.

"22, but what's that got to do with anything?" the blue Seeker wondered.

"That's how many vorns removed I am from our days at the Lyceum." Skyfire replied. He didn't have to look to see the realization cross Thundercracker's face. The blue jet suddenly moved away from the desk with a jerk.

"I haven't had much time to change." Skyfire admitted with a small shrug when Thundercracker remained silent, the mug of energon still clasped between his hands. "The Autobots were nice to me, but I just couldn't be myself around them. So a lot of my old habits haven't changed. I'm probably about the same as you remember."

"You're-- You're--" Words failed Thundercracker instantly and he stared at his old friend in a whole different light. He hadn't even given the potential age difference a thought. He was too used to thinking of Skyfire as the oldest; just a few months over Starscream. It hadn't occurred to him -- with those missed years -- that Skyfire would be so drastically younger than all of them.

But if Skyfire's **habits** hadn't changed... If he was still the same responsible -- and occasionally slightly overbearing -- older-brother-type that they remembered...

"Maybe it's what we need..." Thundercracker murmured thoughtfully.

"Sorry?" Skyfire's head shot up, weary blue optics resting on his friend. They would have been bloodshot if he were human.

"Nothing, nothing... Just thinking out loud." Thundercracker waved a dismissive hand and he started hastily for the door. "Carry on; good luck; don't overwork yourself."

His footsteps retreated down the hall quite rapidly and then fade away into nothing. Skyfire sat up, stretching his arms up above his head and feeling his shoulder joints fully unkink at last. He sifted through a stack of datapads at his elbow until he found the one containing all his notes from Skywarp and Thundercracker's virus chips. Theirs had been so easy to break through, but then again theirs hadn't been quite so complicated. Child's play, even for his somewhat fragmented memory on the subject, and he had to wonder who had designed the programming in the first place. He wanted to laugh at them for the job done on Thundercracker and Skywarp's chips, but he also wanted to commend them for the job done on Starscream's. It was giving him a headache to rival the hangover he'd gotten once from being challenged to drink the Twins' special brew of high-grade (a mistake he'd never made again for obvious reasons).

He picked up the datapad that contained the read-outs for the two chips and scrolled through them idly, not entirely sure what he was looking for, but he had the vague thought that looking over what he had already torn through would help.

Thirty seconds later, a wide and triumphant grin spread across his face.

Skyfire looked up at the screen and hit a few keys on the keyboard. He watched with smug satisfaction as the seemingly impenetrable firewalls and encryptions crumbled away like corroded metal and the entirety of the chip's programming laid itself out before him. He leaned back in the chair with a warm of glow of success and laughed out loud.

There was a reason he'd been considered one of the best amateur programmers back in the day and one day, he was going to show Megatron exactly why.

* * *

It was 7:00 on Monday morning, July 2nd when Sam's eyes snapped open, his mind quite suddenly very awake.

It was Monday. It was the day he was expected to tell his parents why his car kept going missing.

And he planned on telling him the truth.

Sam buried his face in the pillow and tried not to scream.

He knew it would be easier in the long run to just tell his parents the truth, but almost every part of him was very reluctant to say a word. It was a big secret to keep. Emphasis on "big".

His parents were not going to be happy with it, he knew. No doubt they would say that it was dangerous on every level. Optimus was a good 30 feet tall and his parents would probably argue that the Autobots probably wouldn't always be watching their feet.

But he had to tell them. He had to.

But he didn't know how.

_Dear god, why can't my life be normal for once?_ Sam wondered, tilting his head up enough to stare at the ceiling. _Why can't I just be a normal teenager with a normal car and normal cell phone and be able to plop myself down in front of the TV with a big bowl of Froot Loops and watch Saturday morning cartoons?_

As if in answer, there was a drowsy chirp right next to his ear.

_Right... Because my great-grandfather just __**had**__ to go and explore the Arctic Circle._

The morning greeting no longer startled him, so Sam only looked over and stared at LG. The cell phone stared back sleepily.

"Looks like this is it, little buddy." Sam muttered to the mini-mech. "It's me versus the Spanish Inquisition." He groaned. "Shoot me now."

LG trilled lazily and beeped, then transformed back into his cell phone form and proceeded to ignore him. Sam just blinked.

"I think he said that he isn't going to shoot you." claimed a voice that nearly scared Sam out of his skin. He jumped up so fast it was like there was a rope attached to his spine and whirled about, hands held up in a vaguely defensive position, his heart pounding. Perched on the narrow ledge of the window sill was Bumblebee's holoform.

"Bee!" Sam cried in a mixture of anger and exasperation, hurling his pillow at the pseudo-human. Bee dodged it narrowly and the pillow went flying out the window.

"Hey! Watch it!" the Autobot snapped. "It was hard enough projecting my holoform up here in the first place! And any damage you do to me shows up on my protoform!"

"Oh good." Sam cracked his knuckles menacingly. Then he paused and frowned as he fully took in the sight in front of him. "Bee-- is that a-- Is that an Ipod?"

Bee looked down at the piece of machinery held in his hand and grinned.

"No, it's a remote holo-projector; it just looks like an Ipod." the Autobot scout explained. "Apparently, this was Wheeljack's boredom project while he was floating in space. I'm not entirely sure how it's supposed to work, but it supposedly has a link-up to our main projector and it extends the life and durability of our holoforms. 'Jack threw on the Ipod disguise when he saw how common they were. Anyways, it really works. He was testing it with Jazz last night -- 'cause he's the only other one of us who's got a fully-functional holoform. Optimus broke his projector somehow. Over-worked it, I heard. "He shifted on the window sill. It was narrow and probably not comfortable to sit on. "Anyways, Jazz's holoform was still going strong when I left the medbay. And his protoform was all the way down in the rec room. Under normal circumstances, we can't get more than about 50 feet from our protoforms before the holoform fizzles out."

"When did you get back?" Sam asked, opting for a change of subject. He wasn't looking for a conversation that was full of big words that he didn't know the meanings to.

"About... 5:00." Bee replied, tilting his head slightly in thought, blue eyes narrowing a little. "I've got to go back on Wednesday. Ratchet has me scheduled for a follow-up."

"How is your leg?" Sam asked, a little concerned.

"Sore and stiff." Bee replied, rubbing his left thigh around where he had taken the damage on his protoform. "Sunny tells me that should go away in a few days and he would know; considering how many limbs he's had to get reattached in the past." he added, scowling.

Sam did his best not to snigger at the expression. One thing that had completely blindsided him about Bumblebee's holoform was the sheer innocence of it. According to Ratchet's explanation, their holoforms were what they would look like had they actually been born human. Sam would never have pictured his robot-friend looking quite like this.

Bee's holoform appeared no older than 13 years old with a maximum height of five-foot-one, long, somewhat shaggy make-your-eyes-bleed yellow hair with two black streaks running through it and electric blue eyes that were a fraction larger than the average human's. He looked like a human teenager, but at the same time, there was something rather alien about him.

That still hadn't stopped Mikaela from squealing over how cute he was.

"So, any idea on what you're going to say to your parents?" Bumblebee asked brightly.

Here, Sam sighed and sagged back onto his mattress.

"No. You?"

"Hey, I'm not the one telling my parents that I'm friends with several giant robots."

"Alien robots." Sam corrected, running a hand over his forehead. "You guys are aliens."

"So are you." Bee retorted, frowning slightly. He leaned forward, swallowing the last of the pop-tart. "Look, just say it. It'll be easier."

"Bee," Sam started, groaning. "Have you ever had to tell your parents a big secret before?"

"I'm an orphan." the scout informed him, much to his surprise.

"Guardians, then." the teen corrected. "You're an orphan?"

Bee shrugged. "Or AllSpark-created. No one's sure. Either way, I don't actually have real parents like you do." He ran a hand through his hair. "Anyways, I've never had to keep a secret from Optimus before. War-times really didn't allow anyone to keep secrets, especially if it was information that would really help. Actually..."

He trailed off, looking thoughtful. It was much easier to read his body language in holoform, Sam noticed.

"Actually... what?" the teen prompted.

"I think Skyfire was the only one who got away with it." Bumblebee finished. "Makes sense, now that I know."

_Skyfire... The big flying one... The flying one... The Seekers..._ Sam's mind made the connection and he jumped on the next topic he'd wanted to ask about.

"Bee, about the Seekers--" Sam broke off abruptly, wondering if he had said something wrong. Anger had begun to bleed off the scout's frame in almost tangible waves. "Bumblebee?"

The holoform was nearly shaking, fists clenched tightly, eyes darkened to a stormy blue.

"Bee?" Sam questioned tentatively. He was certain he had never seen his friend look this mad before.

"Megatron..." Bumblebee's voice was so low Sam had to strain to hear it and trembling so much that every syllable had to be said slowly. "Megatron went too far... The Seekers... They never should have been fighting..."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Bee took a deep breath and let it go slowly, forcing the tension out of his body. It looked like very hard work.

"Ratchet says--" The scout shook his head vigorously and closed his eyes. "Ratchet says the Seekers had this virus that altered their personalities; made them more aggressive, more likely to start a fight; made them **want** to fight. Megatron had that virus implanted without their knowledge."

"You-- you mean, like-- a computer virus?" Sam asked, trying to put this into terms he could easily comprehend on four hours of sleep. "Like a Trojan virus?"

"Ah... Yeah, that's a pretty good analogy." Bee said, shrugging. "But-- It altered their personalities, turning into something they weren't. Ratchet was able to remove the virus from all three of them, but even Optimus thinks there are other Decepticons who might have this virus too."

The room was silent for a moment as Sam turned this bit of new information over in his head. His encounters with Decepticons were limited at best and he rather wanted to keep it that way. Mission City had been more than enough for him. There had been plenty of talk going around afterwards, on the other hand, and Sam had received a pretty good picture of what the Decepticons were like. Evil, ruthless, merciless and just plain icky-nasty bad.

And then there was the thought that maybe they weren't fighting of their own choice.

Sam couldn't imagine being forced to fight against his will and probably not even knowing it. He didn't even know where to begin imagining it. It was nothing he had faced before and he hoped that he would never have to. He wanted to keep that sort of innocence.

"You just don't put the words 'nice' and 'Decepticon' in the same sentence; especially not one right after the other." Bee added, looking a smidgen disturbed. "You just **don't**."

"Nice Decepticons." Sam tested with a raised eyebrow. He thought about it for a moment. "Sounds like a whachamacallit..."

"Oxymoron?" Bee offered and got a blank stare in return.

"Big words do not compute on four hours of sleep." Sam informed the Autobot.

"Right, whatever." Bee snorted, sounding rather like Ironhide there. "I'll be in the alley behind your house. Just give me a shout."

Sam nodded and the holoform slipped off the window sill, grabbing a hold of the rain drainage pipe and disappearing. Sam flopped face-first back onto the bed and belatedly recalled that his pillow had gone out the window.

Oh well... He would get it later.

* * *

The Spanish Inquisition was waiting for Sam when he finally arrived in the kitchen about three hours later. His parents sat at the table with their arms crossed and their faces set in the ultimate expression of parental-disapproval. He made a mental note to get some ice after this because he was definitely going to experience the third degree.

"Where's your car, Sam?" Ronald Witwicky asked without preamble.

"Yeah-- about my car..." Sam rubbed the back of his head nervously, trying to put his thoughts in order. "Remember when those government guys came over and dragged us off?"

"Don't change the subject, Sam." Judy said admonishingly. "This about your car. Don't try to blame the government for your car going missing."

"No-- Mom, that's part of it." Sam said quickly. This was not the way he wanted to start off this explanation.

Judy took that in the wrong direction.

"The government has been stealing your car? That's ridiculous! Just tell us the truth Sam! Are you loaning it out to someone? Is it being stolen every night and you were threatened so you couldn't tell us?"

"No! Remember when I said that my car has a mind of its own? It's the truth! I swear it is! All that stuff about giant alien robots in Mission City back in May! That's true too! I was right there in the middle of it! I saw it all! There were really giant alien robots there! My car is one of them!"

Silence overtook the kitchen. Sam stared apprehensively at his parents for longer than he liked, who turned to look at each other. It was moments like these where Sam was certain that Ron and Judy were capable of communicating psychically. The silent communiqué lasted no more than two seconds and the teen was inordinately pleased to see that they looked somewhat apprehensive now. He had said the same thing just last week and his drug test had come up negative, thankfully. Considering that he hadn't changed his story yet...

"C'mon, I'll show you." Sam offered. Visual aides would be most helpful here. He had put this off long enough anyways.

Ron and Judy followed their son to the backyard where -- there were tire tracks and foot prints in the grass, to Ron's vexation -- the bright, shiny yellow 2009 Camaro was parked, just off the edge of the grass. It looked a little dented to Ron's eyes, above the back left tire, and he wondered how Sam had gotten the car over here without them hearing the engine.

Unless the crazy alien robot story was actually true...

Sam walked right across the lawn, causing Ron to wince internally, and stood right in front of the Camaro's bumper, looking a bit more confident than he had in the kitchen. He took a deep, fortifying breath.

"Okay Mom, Dad... I want you to meet Bumblebee."

_He named the car?_ Ron wondered, just before a strange mechanical whirring noise met his ears, accompanied by the furious clicking of gears. The older man swore his heart stopped in his chest as the Camaro -- for lack of a better term -- unfolded and stood up on two legs.

Bumblebee was quick to drop to one knee, aware that his height was rather imposing for humans. But even kneeling, he still appeared formidable. The heart rates of both the parental units had shot through the roof, according to his scanners. And the tension in the air was so thick!

"Um... Hello." Bee said politely, waving his hand a few degrees in greeting.

That did it.

"_WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!_"

"_OH JESUS CHRIST!! WHERE'S THE RAKE?!_"

"_SAM!! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING AND WHERE DID IT COME FROM!?_"

"No--! Mom! Dad! Calm down! I can explain!"

"_HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO CALM DOWN?!_"

"It's okay! It's okay! He's not gonna hurt you! I promise!"

"_SAM THERE'S A GIANT ROBOT SITTING ON MY GRASS!! HOW CAN YOU EXPECT US TO BE CALM?!_"

"_A GIANT ROBOT THAT'S ACTUALLY YOUR CAR!!_"

"Actually, it's more like a car that's really a giant robot." Sam corrected, hands still held up in an attempt to quell his flustered, somewhat hysterical parents. "I mean, he's a giant robot first and a car second."

The arguing broke out again.

Watching the debacle, Bumblebee was suddenly very glad that he didn't know who his creators were. Oh sure, Ironhide had been a nursemaid of the worst kind, but he couldn't begin to imagine how his creators might have reacted to a situation such as this, if the positions were reversed.

Sam whirled suddenly to his Autobot guardian with a pleading expression. Ron and Judy looked a mix of livid angry and terribly confused. Bee wasn't sure he wanted to get in the middle of this, but he had been the cause of this, however inadvertently.

"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky," the scout started, causing them both to jump. He needed to say something that would assuage their fears; prove that he was no threat to them.

"...I come in peace."

_Oh, brilliant Bee. Just brilliant._ He chastised himself. The two adult humans were just staring at their offspring like he had lost his mind or had never had it in the first place.

Slowly, Ron reached forward, plucking a handful of Sam's shirt and dragged him back to the porch, what he deemed to be a safe distance away. Not about to be left alone in the presence of a giant robot, Judy followed.

"Sam, could you -- explain to us how this happened?" Ron asked in a low voice that he evidently thought wasn't going to be heard. Bee's audials still picked up every word that was said.

"Not much to explain, Dad." Sam said with a shrug. "He was still a robot when we bought him from Bobby Bolivia's car lot, but we weren't supposed to know. See," The teen settled himself for what could be a long explanation. "He and some of his friends came here looking for something called the 'AllSpark' because they were trying to find a way to end their war."

"War?" Ron repeated, frowning.

"Yeah, they've been fighting a war for a long time now." Sam nodded. "The thing is, I think it's over finally, but none of them can go home now."

Bumblebee saw Judy glance in his direction with a sad look. He was pretty sure that he had just scored pity points with the Witwicky matriarch. Sam seemed to pick up the same thing, judging from the next card he played.

"Bee wants to stay here anyways and -- well, he's actually not much older than me, relatively speaking." the teen said and instantly, Judy's whole face morphed into an expression of sympathy. She didn't realize that her own son was playing on her maternal instincts and that was precisely what Sam was going for.

It was not long at all when the parents retreated indoors to discuss this further.

"My mom has caved." Sam announced triumphantly as he strode back to the Autobot. "My dad will follow."

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" Bee asked, uncertain himself.

"Don't worry about it, buddy." Sam patted his arm. "You're as good as part of the family now."

"It's not that I'm worrying, but..." Bumblebee trailed off and shook his head, not sure how to translate his thoughts into words. "Never mind."

"Hey! I don't think I'm grounded anymore!" Sam said brightly. "Wanna go see Mikaela? Or go bug Miles?"

Bee smiled and transformed back to his alt-mode. He had the chance to act his young age again instead of having to think like a battle-hardened soldier. He figured that he might as well take advantage of it while he could.


	18. Chpt17: Promises Kept

**A/N:** I'm sorry. You're all going to have to wait another chapter.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Seventeen: Promises Kept

* * *

Skywarp had a dream.

He took care never to speak of it, though he was certain that his wing-mates had the same dream from time to time. Thundercracker didn't entertain this dream very much, he guessed; trying to stay focused on reality, no matter how pleasant the dream was. And Starscream... Skywarp knew this dream had always lingered at the back of his flight leader's CPU. Starscream was the one who wanted it the most.

They all wanted to see Skyfire again.

Living, breathing, in the flesh, as the humans would say.

They all wanted to see Skyfire alive.

It was an impossible dream.

Still, it was one that Skywarp entertained regularly. He dreamt up different scenarios in how they could meet Skyfire again. Perhaps they would be in some marketplace and simply run right into him; in a fashion parodying how they had met the first time. Perhaps they would encounter him in the heat of a battle or needing help or on some planet in the back of the universe or in any number of ways his processor could come up with.

Skywarp was naturally a very social creature. He craved the company of others to himself. It was strange to think that he had made friends with three of the most introverted mechs he'd ever met. Even stranger to think that he had turned them into social creatures themselves. When you got right down to it, he much preferred the company of his friends to anyone else.

But when Skyfire had died in their final year of school, they had slipped apart a little. Starscream had pushed them away, buried in his own guilt and turmoil; Thundercracker didn't seem to know how to handle the situation, closing up more than a little. Skywarp had done his best to keep them together, but with every day that passed, he felt like they were slipping away a little more. And he'd started to close up a little himself, pulling away from the mechs who'd been his best friends for as long as he could remember, it seemed to him.

After graduation, it felt like the slate had been wiped clean; that they had the chance to start anew. Thundercracker had given himself a firm shake and was mostly back to normal, much to Skywarp's relief. Starscream, however, had been harder to pull out of his depression. By the end of the summer, he seemed to have come out of it enough to start acting normally again. He had, at least, stopped trailing his sentences off and staring into space at random moments and all the nightmares had gone away. The only thing he wouldn't do was actively seek them out for comfort; instead disappearing to odd places and it often took hours to find him again and even longer, it often felt, to coax a word out of him.

"_Everyone handles things differently."_ Starscream had once told Skywarp.

When the four of them were in school together, whenever Starscream was upset or frustrated, he always sought out his wing-mates, and wouldn't be separated from them until he felt better. Sometimes he cursed and vented, sometimes he would just sit and read a book-file; but every other moment, it seemed, he was glancing around at them, as though to make sure they were all still there.

But losing Skyfire... That was just plain different.

Skyfire's death had left a void behind that not one person was worthy enough to fill. That's why Starscream had always made sure there was a gap in their formation whenever they flew anywhere. He may have never spoken of Skyfire after that day, but it was clear that their friend's absence was never far from his mind; always keenly felt. He still held onto the memories; deny it as he would.

It was years and years later now. Skywarp's dream had lost some of its edge and he no longer thought about it as often. With every year marker that had passed, he had begun to wonder if it was really worth it; hanging onto this tattered, shredded hope of seeing his lost friend just one more time. Even if just to say the proper goodbye he'd been denied. But with each year marker that had passed, the prospect of something as far-fetched as that happening had just gotten bleaker and bleaker.

And then Skywarp got a sharp, wonderful lesson in why you should hang onto your hopes and dreams.

He was sitting now in a back room of the Autobots' medbay, only a few days or so after the fight in the Utah desert, not quite awake, but not quite in recharge either. An open book-file lay balanced in his lap, his heels resting on the nearest flat surface. He hadn't actually been reading it; it was one of those weird book-files of Thundercracker's that made the reader think way too much. It was difficult for Skywarp to get into, but having it there made it look like he was actually doing something, should anyone happen to glance in on him.

Skywarp glanced up at Starscream, who was still lying unconscious and inert. Since the personality-altering patch's power-sucking parasitic influence was gone, Ratchet did not have a good time frame for when Starscream could wake up; it could be next week; it could be in another month. His systems had to reset themselves due to the fact that they were receiving more energy than they were used to and Ratchet had had to remove the IV before Starscream's systems got flooded.

There was a flicker of movement in the open doorway, just out of the corner of his optic. When Skywarp glanced over, it seemed to disappear. He gave a small grin and shook his head.

"He's not gonna bite, y'know." he called in a low voice.

There was a second of what was probably hesitation and then Skyfire sidled into the room, trying to look small and unnoticed and failing due to his size. The black and purple jet gave another grin.

"Sheesh... How long have you been lurking out there 'Fire?" Skywarp asked, ignoring the Valkyrie's flinch.

"About... half an hour." Skyfire replied, glancing everywhere around the room but at his two friends, regardless if one was unconscious and unresponsive. "Sorry, I didn't mean to dis--"

"Y'know, you've been avoiding me and TC a lot over the last few days." Skywarp pointed out, a little annoyed. "Haven't we already made it clear that we're not gonna go Decepticon on you?"

Skyfire didn't reply, apparently finding the floor very fascinating.

"'Fire, it's okay. You can talk to us." Skywarp said, almost pleadingly as he stood up. After their initial conversation, Skyfire had spoken maybe a dozen words to both of them and didn't stick around too long if they happened to be in the same room.

"C'mon, please. I know it's been years since we last saw each other, but we're still friends. I want us to still be friends. I want things to be kind of normal again--"

"Normal?" Skyfire interrupted in a low voice. "Skywarp, how can anything be normal anymore?" He made an almost furious gesture to Starscream. "They've got him tied to the berth because they don't know what he's gonna be like when he wakes up. And you and TC-- Thundercracker had killed more people than I can stomach. All of us are completely different people now. We grew up and--"

He broke off and shook his head in a semblance of defeat.

"You're treating me like you used to." The Valkyrie said in a soft, accusing voice that made Skywarp flinch despite himself. "How can you act like nothing's changed?"

"'Cause I don't know any other way." Skywarp replied, shrugging.

"You don't--" Skyfire broke off again, obviously lacking the proper words to convey his thoughts, and put his head in his hands. Skywarp crossed his arms, pulling his shoulders down and back, drawing his wings higher.

"Did you ever give up on us?"

Skyfire glanced up. "What?..."

"Did you ever give up on us?" Skywarp repeated. "Did you ever think that we were beyond hope? If we had been on the verge of bleeding out on the battlefield, would you have turned your back and walked away?"

Had he been capable, Skyfire would have turned very pale.

"No!" he cried, horrified of turning his back like that.

"Good." Skywarp smirked. "'Cause I never gave up on you being alive."

The words stunned Skyfire into silence.

"I **never** gave up." Skywarp said firmly. "Ever."

Very slowly, Skyfire slid to the floor, staring at nothing at all. He put his face in his hands again, drawing his knees up to his chassis and putting his head down. Skywarp didn't need to see his face to know that his old friend was close to tears. He dropped the rather assertive posture and strolled over to Skyfire's side, crossing the floor in four steps and dropping to his knees. One hand found its way onto Skyfire's shoulder, the other grasped at his wrist.

"Skyfire..." What could he say? He thought they had worked this out already, but apparently, they hadn't.

"Was he the same?" Skyfire asked, rather hoarsely.

"Huh?..."

"Starscream... Was he the same -- afterwards?" Skyfire asked, barely glancing up but Skywarp could see the shining blue optics.

"I'd love to lie to you right now, but-- no, he wasn't the same." the black and purple jet replied sadly. "It was like he just stopped caring about-- everything. We'd talk to him and-- and it was like we were talking to a completely different person. He never smiled or laughed just because he could or because he thought something was funny. Anytime he did... it was always at Megatron and it was always in..."

"Malice." Thundercracker put in from the doorway, picking up the flagging sentence. "It was always in malice. He rarely had a kind word to say to anyone. Sometimes..." He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm just not sure why we stuck by his side."

The silence that followed was sort of ugly and black. There were still hurt, bruised feelings lingering and none of them were going to go away as quickly as they would like.

"It was loyalty." Skyfire said at last, seeming to sink a little further into himself. "You stuck by him because..." Frag, here came the tears. "Because you just couldn't forget that friendship..."

Skywarp's arms circled around his shoulders as the hot fluid dribbled down his faceplates. Skyfire found himself leaning into the embrace. It was a position he'd never thought he find himself in again. He'd thought he lost his friends for good a long time ago.

Over Skyfire's head, Skywarp shared a long look with Thundercracker. Saying that Starscream had no longer cared... It wasn't quite the truth. There had been one moment that neither of them could really remember. They both had caught a nasty virus before their anti-virus software had been updated and had been a few days away from base; so it had taken a while for back-up to arrive. They could only vaguely remember Starscream trying to coax them into swallowing some gritty, under-refined energon, trying to keep their systems from overheating while the virus wreaked its havoc upon them. They could only vaguely remember Starscream actually being kind to them; moving about with light hands and gentle touches and a soft voice.

When they had woken up in the medbay two or three days later, their systems wiped clean of the virus, it had been difficult to say whether or not that had actually happened. Their memories of that time were still hazy and unreliable and Starscream-- Well, if he really had shown that sort of kindness to them, he'd never admitted to it. They had never bothered him about it. They had just let it be.

It was a good ten minutes before Skyfire was able to get himself under control, the half-muffled sobs tapering off into the occasional, miserable hiccup. By that time, Thundercracker had seated himself on the floor beside his friends, one arm wrapped tightly around the Valkyrie's shoulders.

"So... We're-- all still friends, right?" Skywarp asked, a little tentative.

"'Course we are, 'Warp." Thundercracker said softly, staring at the floor.

"Yeah." Skyfire said, unhesitatingly. "Yeah, we're still friends."

Skywarp let out a sigh and leaned against the Valkyrie and realized that his dream -- the one that had always hung around at the back of his mind -- had actually come true. He'd gotten to see Skyfire again and he didn't even have to say goodbye.

And some promises were never broken.

All was right again.

* * *

Wednesday, July 4th dawned bright and warm, holding the promise of another hot summer day with a clear cloudless sky. The sun rose a brilliant gold, casting its light across the Nevada desert and into the un-adjusted eyes of the early risers of Tranquility. Despite that, those people still rose from their beds to bask in the coolness of the summer dawn and prepare themselves for the holiday that lay right in front of them.

Unaware of what was going to be taking place later on and of the gorgeous day that was coming to life outside the _Ark_, Ratchet slouched grouchily down the hallway to the back of the medbay. His recharge had been cut short by shouting around midnight and he cursed himself from keeping a one-way comlink open to the room Starscream was housed in. Cursed the Seekers for converging on that room to start the main event of stage two. Primus, and that was just the first round of arguments too. The _Ark_ was going to be a much louder place over next few weeks. He was not looking forward to it.

However, when the medic entered the room to check on the unconscious Seeker, he was stopped short by an odd sight.

There had been some unspoken consensus between Thundercracker and Skywarp that one of them would be in this room at any given time and they would trade off regularly. So seeing at least one of them in here wasn't unusual to Ratchet. In fact, he liked the fact that they were willing to keep an optic of their wing-mate. It was less work he had to do. And occasionally, he would find both of them in here.

It was seeing Skyfire in here that threw Ratchet for a loop.

Skyfire had been living up to just about every aspect of stage two; doing all in his power to avoid his wing-mates wherever possible and whatnot. And he had not set a foot in this room yet.

Until last night.

Ratchet stepped over the outstretched legs extending from the three jets piled on the floor. Skyfire was slumped so low against the wall that he was undoubtedly going to have a very stiff neck when he finally woke up. His wings had been pushed up due to how low he was to the floor. Obviously he had not been given the chance to fold them up before falling into recharge. Beside him, Thundercracker had managed to fold his wings up, but he was situated so that his head was pillowed on the Valkyrie's shoulder. A stiff neck for him too. It also looked like he had tried to climb up Skyfire shoulders at some point. Skywarp was the only one who even looked remotely comfortable where he was. He was mostly horizontal, but he was also laying halfway into Skyfire's lap. The Valkyrie's arm was draped loosely over his shoulders. It was a strangely sweet picture and not something the medic would have ever associated with the Seekers before this.

This meant, however, that stage two had been cleared in a single argument.

_Perhaps I've underestimated them?..._ Ratchet wondered. He shook his head at the thought and turned to check on Starscream.

The Seeker's energy levels had finally stopped fluctuating and his systems had finally reset themselves properly. The energy levels were still low, but they were much more acceptable than they had been a few days ago. Now that things had settled, Ratchet was able to narrow the time frame. If Starscream continued to mend at this pace, he might wake up as early as next week. It was still difficult to say for certain, but the medic was more confident on his estimate this time.

Ratchet put his fingers under the metal cuff that was holding Starscream's wrist to the berth and gave an experimental tug. It didn't budge a centimeter. The bonds were a precaution. After such drastic personality reconditioning, Starscream's mental state was going to be questionable at best and Ratchet wasn't about to take any chances.

The medic navigated his way around the Seekers on his way out to prep the medbay for the day, turning down the lights. In the process, he looked over his shoulder, etching the sight of the three jets into his memory banks. How many Autobots could say that had seen Decepticon Seekers in such peaceful repose? Then Ratchet left the room. There was work to be done. Bumblebee had a follow-up visit, Sunstreaker had just gotten his leg repaired and reattached yesterday evening and he needed to make sure that Jazz's new armor was fitting properly. It was going to be a busy day for him.

* * *

"...entirely too long! Did you **have** to throw me out all those times?! I know how fast you can reattach a limb! It would have taken twenty minutes! Just 20 minutes! You couldn't have given up just 20 minutes?!"

"Flexing your leg does not require flapping your lips, Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker grumbled inaudibly, but obediently bent his knee and brought it down to his chassis as far as he could. He had lost enough limbs to be familiar with the post-op examination. Part of it was making sure the spinal relays were sending the right signals to the previously detached limb and then making sure that the limb was moving like it was supposed to. Besides, the better he cooperated with the Hatchet, the sooner he could get out of here. He had lived with this marred paintjob long enough. It was insufferable. He looked terrible.

"Green." Ratchet commented, checking something off on the datapad beside him. "Get up and walk to the end of room."

Sunstreaker sat up and got off the bunk and walked smoothly to the end of the room and back, demonstrating that, yes indeed his leg was functioning properly.

Ratchet made another check.

"Transform. And then I can get you out of here."

The last test; make sure that limb still reacted to the transformation sequence. Sunstreaker had never experienced any difficulty with this part and this time was no different. He sat as patiently as he could on four tires for the 40 seconds it took Ratchet to run one final scan. The medic placed one final check on the datapad and the yellow twin was already halfway out the door, tires screeching on the metal floor.

"I hate it when he does that." Ratchet commented in a dull voice.

"Th' words 'Sunstreaker' an' 'patience' never got along." Jazz informed him from where he had been patiently awaiting his turn.

"The words 'Sunstreaker' and 'marred paintjob' have never gotten along." Ratchet corrected, prompting a laugh out of Jazz.

"Me, I'm jus' surprised he didn't crack 'bout it any sooner." the saboteur said.

"That's because he was flat on his back and half out of it for a few weeks." Ratchet said, checking his chronometer. "Where the slag is Bee?!"

As if on cue, the scout came hobbling into the medbay, accompanied by Optimus with a somewhat disgruntled-looking Sam trailing after them, wholly absorbed with the conversation he was holding -- with Mikaela, it sounded like -- over the phone.

"Sorry, I ran into Sunny in the hall. Literally." Bee explained. There were some new streak marks on his lower legs.

"I assume Sunstreaker has finally been cleared?" Optimus asked, helping the scout over to the berth Ratchet was standing by, trying to repress quite a lot of amusement.

"And heading off to the nearest body shop, no doubt." Ratchet grumbled, his fingers lingering on a particular wrench that he had never lost after all these years. It was large, tarnished, dented beyond belief, and responsible for most of the cranial damage Autobots suffered whenever they entered the medbay with stupid injuries.

Bumblebee eased onto the berth, wincing every inch of the way. After an uncomfortable moment of cool, probing fingers in the hip joint and the itchy tingle of the scanner, the medic gave his diagnosis.

"Pulled cable; that'll straighten itself out in an hour or two. Everything else is healing fine. Try to stay off your feet for the rest of the day though."

"The rest of the day?" Bee repeated, looking downheartened. "But-- But--"

"But what?" Ratchet asked, silently daring the scout to keep protesting. Bee glanced down at Sam, who was still absorbed in that phone conversation and not the slightest bit aware that he was being stared at. To Optimus, it sounded very much like the teen was planning something and from the second he heard the word "explosion", he made high-priority mental note to keep Ironhide and Wheeljack far, far away. Finally, Sam snapped the phone shut -- it let out a squeak at the treatment -- and turned to the Autobots, finally noticing the optics fixed on him.

"What?" he asked, looking at all of them.

"Is there something happening today, Sam?" Optimus asked, curious to know what was up. There had been a particularly large amount of happy tension filling the air when he'd been cruising through the city very early this morning.

Sam gave a particularly wide grin. Aha, so there was something going on.

"It's July 4th." he replied. "And you're all about to find out how America does freedom."

* * *

"Drunken revelry, things that go 'boom' and gorging yourself on over-processed, fatty foods? You humans certainly have an odd way of celebrating freedom."

"How would you celebrate freedom?"

"Indoors. And far away from Wheeljack."

"Hey!"

"Aww! Don't be such a party-pooper, Prowlie!" Jazz quite deliberately smacked his friend across the back of the head. "Get int' th' spirit!"

"I understand and fully support the spirit, but this holiday involves -- and I repeat -- things that go '**boom**', Jazz, and **Wheeljack** is _here_." Prowl said emphatically, hoping to ram the idea into the silver mech's processor. "I have had one too many nerve-wracking experiences regarding him and the state of that disaster zone he dares to call his work shop; half of which I swear were pulled on purpose in an attempt to short out my spark."

"Prowl, my audials haven't mysteriously gone offline. I can still hear you." Wheeljack reminded the tactician from where he stood, arms crossed. He glanced to Ratchet for some support.

"I'm with Prowl on this one." the medic said, nodding. The inventor scowled at him. "Sorry 'Jack, but you have the incredible ability to simply look at something and cause it to explode."

"Uuh... guys?" Mikaela was poking through the box of fireworks that Sam and Miles had brought along with them. "Aren't some of these illegal?"

"Oh, my dad knows a guy who knows a guy." Miles said, waving a dismissive hand. "He always get a good deal."

Mikaela floundered for the proper thing to say, looking to Sam for a clue.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him.

"C'mon Mikaela, setting off fireworks is half -- no, three-quarters -- the fun of the Fourth of July." Sam said insistently, taking her hands and trying to ignore the way Ratchet was staring disapprovingly. "And don't worry about setting anything on fire. Miles normally catches his hair on fire every year." he added with a laugh.

"It's not that funny!" Miles said, snatching up the box and deftly avoided Ratchet's swiping hand. "It's just my hair! It grows back!"

"Get back here!" Ratchet gave chase, but Miles was a heck of a lot lighter and faster than the medic.

Bumblebee glanced at the remaining two teens.

"You should probably go save him." he suggested. "Ratchet won't stop until he gets that box away from him."

"Good idea."

Sam went to rescue his best friend from the wrath of the medic and Mikaela because she felt that she was going to be needed. After a few minutes, Ratchet came back, obviously having given up trying to catch the smaller, speedier human. Miles didn't look it, but he could really book it when he wanted to.

"Fireworks are reportedly dangerous and entirely capable of injuring any human who's stupid enough to get too close and yet that one will insist on setting them off without any protective wear." the medic muttered resignedly, throwing a glare at Miles, who had set up a good distance from the Autobots. "One would think that having such easily damaged bodies would lead them to take more precautions, but noo, they're constantly looking for new and more interesting ways to kill themselves."

"Humans make my logic processor ache." Prowl deadpanned, rubbing his forehead. "They act on impulse rather than thinking things through first. It is a wonder that they haven't made themselves extinct."

"Prowl, stop actin' ya don't walk 'round wit' your battle computer off sometimes." Jazz said with a frown. "'Cause we all know when ya got it off."

"You're slow to make a decision." Ratchet pointed out.

"And you tend to ramble on like Bluestreak." Wheeljack added.

Prowl frowned, but knowing that they were right. He **did** turn his battle computer off from time to time under the excuse that there was a strategic advantage to knowing how his comrades -- the mechs whose lives were practically in his hands when he drew up battle plans -- thought and therefore fought. And he was better prepared for the moments when his battle computer was knocked offline by external forces.

The only downside was that he did indeed develop the tendency to ramble on as bad or worse than Bluestreak.

In an effort to change the subject, Prowl threw a glower at the yellow mech sulking in the grass a few yards away. "And what's your problem?"

"Everything was closed..." Sunstreaker whimpered, two fingers trailing idly over the largest scuff mark on his left arm. His hopes of getting a professional wash, wax, and buffing had been thoroughly dashed when he'd discovered that July 4th was a federal holiday and no business was required to be open. He'd been sulking about it ever since.

"Hah!" was Ironhide's reply to the yellow twin's misfortune. Sunstreaker was too much into a self-imposed misery to say something snappish back and the seven Autobots sat in a peaceful silence for a bit. Far off to the side, Sam, Mikaela and Miles were running from a firecracker that hadn't wanted to shoot into the air and was instead exploding right there on the ground, its outbursts propelling it through the scrub grass.

"Y'know, one day, I bet we'll have a day like this too." Bumblebee said optimistically, looking off into the distance where there were fireworks exploding over Tranquility in time to music they couldn't hear; though Jazz had figured out the beat. The assembled Autobots looked at their youngest comrade.

"We do." Ironhide said. "For the Second War."

"I meant for the Third War." Bee corrected. He shifted so he was facing them more. "Think about it. The war's ending, isn't it?"

Six sets of optics shifted to Optimus, who had yet to contribute anything to the conversation. He uncrossed his ankles and recrossed them so it was right over left and continued his watch of the distant celebration.

"Megatron is still out there." he began. "And he still has many soldiers who are loyal to him. Whether they fight for him willingly or not, his army is still a force to be reckoned with."

He was silent for a moment as several particularly large, golden fireworks blossomed over the city in the distance.

"But I think we may finally be on the right track."

Ironhide fixed with a strange look.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked warily. "After everything that's happened up until now, all years we've been fighting -- fighting **them**--" He pointed up into the sky where two forms were flying about. "Do you really think we can have peace with them around?"

"Ironhide, have a little faith." Optimus said chidingly. "We don't even know them--"

"My point exactly." Ironhide interrupted. "We don't know what they'll do next--"

"They won't attack us." Sunstreaker interrupted, prompting everyone to look at him. "You're all idiots. Those two are worried out of their processors for Starscream -- as hard as it is for **me** to grasp -- to do anything. And they're not going to stop worrying about him until he wakes up unharmed."

He put his head back down on his drawn-up knees.

"It's the same way I act whenever Sideswipe's in the medbay all slagged up." he muttered.

There was a silence for a moment that stretched long.

"He's right." Ratchet said after another moment and everyone looked at him with shock. It was the first time in anyone's memory that he had actually agreed with one of the Twins. "Innocent until proven guilty."

After that, no more words passed between the Autobots. They sat back to enjoy the slice of American freedom displayed before them, each thinking about how they were long overdue for a day such as this. When it came, Optimus would mark it; the day when peace was finally restored. When the lines that separated the factions were wiped away forever. No Autobot, no Decepticon, just Cybertronian.

Just like it had once been.

* * *

Skyfire didn't react when a rush of air passed over him, ruffling the grass around him. He heard two noisy transformation sequences and then felt through the ground more than heard footsteps heading for him. Skywarp appeared on his left and Thundercracker on his right and both sat down; dangling their legs over the cliff edge.

"You didn't want to come flying with us." Skywarp stated.

"Sorry, I was busy yanking apart old programming codes, repairing corrupted data and rewriting firewalls for Teletraan I all day. Everything in the mainframe is a mess." Skyfire replied, trying to push down a yawn and failing miserably. He dropped his head in an exaggerated show of fatigue. "Wheeljack's been taking full advantage of the fact that I can program and that computer is a slagging troglodyte."

Ah, the English language had so many fun words.

"Well, you **are** good at it." Thundercracker said, shrugging. "Don't pretend that you're not."

"I'm not pretending that I'm not. It's just that I spent a lot of time trying not to call attention to myself back then and advertising the fact that I can program circles around anyone wasn't the way to do it." Skyfire said, feeling a bit snippy. It was hard to hold it back. He was tired. "And now that everyone knows..."

"We caused you a lot of trouble, didn't we." Thundercracker said, glancing away to the side.

"No, Th-- Never mind." Skyfire shook his head. It would be futile to argue. The Seekers had frequently been the Decepticons of choice to bash in the Autobots' post-battle morale parties. There was no reason to try and dress it up. It would be like saying that the Twins **weren't** the Autobots of choice to bash in the Decepticons' post-battle morale parties.

For a little bit, they sat in silence, watching the fireworks blossom in their multi-colored glory before fizzling away, the sparks falling to the earth. And then Skywarp, who could never stay silent for too long a time, voiced the first thing to cross his processor.

"What was it like?" he asked.

"What was?..." Skyfire asked uncertainly. There was a lot of answers to that question.

"Being... frozen." Skywarp finished, staring down at the plain below them.

"'Warp!" Thundercracker squawked, just barely resisting from lunging across Skyfire and smack the black and purple jet across the head. Skywarp was prone to asking questions like that, but for the love of Primus, they had all changed! The blue Seeker watched his old friend for a wary moment, not sure how Skyfire was going to react to that question.

"To be honest..." The Valkyrie sighed heavily. "I don't remember."

"Nothing?" Skywarp questioned curiously.

"I remember crashing and sinking. And I remember hitting the bottom and falling into stasis-lock..." Skyfire said, shuttering his optics, though it couldn't stop the rush of memories. "But the next thing I really knew was Ratchet poking and prodding at me and muttering something about painkillers and scooters and I think Perceptor was there at some point too. That whole part's still mostly just a really big blur to me, though." He sighed again, looking up to the red-purple glow on the horizon, all that was left of the sun. "245 vorns gone and I remember none of it."

"You didn't miss much." Skywarp said quickly, resting his chin in his hands, putting his elbows on his knees. "Those vorns were awful. The war started and we joined the Decepticons and everything just went to the Pit faster than you could say 'Dammit'. Scrap it, I think you might have been lucky to miss all that."

Skyfire just shook his head.

"I would have preferred to be there." he said.

The other two were silent for a very long time, echoing the thought. They wondered just how easier those vorns might have been to get through if they had their until-recently missing wing-mate.

"So you really don't remember anything?" Thundercracker found himself asking.

Again, Skyfire just shook his head.

"Ratchet took a scan of my CPU to make sure there wasn't any damage and he said there were blips of activity here and there -- when I somehow regained a shred of consciousness. But those moments didn't last more than a few seconds. So I don't remember them at all. It was just -- cold. All the time."

Skywarp didn't hesitate to clamp Skyfire in a tight hug. The movement was more compulsive than anything else and maybe not entirely unexpected. Even so, it was several seconds before Skyfire had the nerve to settle an arm over his friend's shoulders.

"You realize that he's going to be a bit clingy for the next few days, right?" Thundercracker asked, trying not to sound smug and failing.

"I know, Thundercracker..." Skyfire couldn't help but grin, content to momentarily ignore the fact that the black and purple jet seemed to be coming awfully close to crushing his armor.

"Hey, if you want a hug too, then get your aft over here." Skywarp piped up, releasing one hand long enough to jab a finger at the ground.

"I'm not the one who woke up all over Skyfire's lap this morning." Thundercracker said, defiantly crossing his arms, despite the smile tugging at his mouth.

"But I woke up and found hanging onto my arm." Skyfire pointed out with a half-smile. "Pit, I swear you were trying to crush me. Speaking of which, 'Warp could you..."

Skywarp obligingly let go and was a bit surprised to find that he had left a shallow imprint in the Valkyrie's torso armor.

"Guess you guys missed me a little bit." Skyfire muttered, feeling a smidge uncomfortable.

"...A little bit?" Skywarp repeated incredulously, frowning, a brow-ridge arched. "A little bit?"

He latched onto the silver jet with both hands. Skyfire tried to scoot back, but the black and purple Seeker was half-sitting on his legs, hands clamped tightly on his collar armor.

"Frag it 'Fire, it was hardly a little bit!" Skywarp half-shouted, hands in position to throttle Skyfire. "We were missing a wing-mate, slaggit! Everyone noticed the big-aft gap we kept leaving in our formation! It wasn't the same after--" His shaking hands tightened painfully over the silver Valkyrie's shoulders. "A little bit?! Are you fritzed?! Did you forget what TC's mum pounded into our heads?! Friends, wing-mates, brothers! Fly together, die together!"

With the last seven words, Skywarp practically throttled his wing-mate, as though hoping that if he shook him enough, he'd get a little bit of sense into the Valkyrie's processor.

"Our loyalties lay first and foremost with our wing-mates and nothing's changed yet!" the black and purple Seeker went on through semi-gritted dental plates. "We don't abandon them under any circumstances! We watch their backs no matter what! You knew as well as I did that Starscream was more likely to turn his back on Megatron and the Decepticons if he had found out back then that you were alive! And Pit, me and TC would have gone with him, no questions asked! We may have been Decepticon Seekers, but we had our loyalties and our honor and we knew where they laid!"

A silence followed this and Skywarp slowly released his crushing grip on the silver Valkyrie's collar armor. Thundercracker looked up at Skyfire, who looked more than just a little taken aback by the depth of loyalty that Skywarp had just shown. It was evident from his expression that he had not expected this. Not after so long. But Skywarp had clung determinedly to the ideals that had been hammered into their CPUs for years. He had almost lived by those ideals and as far as Thundercracker knew, the black Seeker would never willingly betray them.

It was the way Skywarp was. As much as he caused chaos, he needed a semblance of order to live by. On his own, he simply got into a lot of trouble. For the lack of a better term, Skywarp had been the "little brother" of their group; usually but not always needing to be looked out for by the others, just to keep him from getting into trouble, however inadvertent. He was lazy and didn't always like to think things through and he didn't always know when he had gotten in over his head, but he was smart enough to qualify as a force to be reckoned with. He was intensely loyal to his friends (much to Megatron's annoyance) and no matter how much of a social little butterfly he was; when the going got rough and the rough pulled out the big guns, Skywarp would inevitably flit back to his best friends and ride it out with them.

Thundercracker had long considered himself to be a middle child of sorts. Before they had gotten into school, before they'd met Skyfire, he'd policed the spats that had often erupted between Skywarp and Starscream because both always wanted to get the last word in. Generally, he had just tried to keep both of them in line.

Starscream had been their leader even that far back. When it came to decision-making, they would look to him to make it and he had risen to the leadership position spectacularly. Being a leader was something he was very good at it -- perhaps even better than Megatron -- but even he made rash decisions that overstretched his own strengths.

That's where Skyfire had fit in.

Skyfire was their big brother; their "protector". He'd always had one optic out for all of them, warding the dumb bullies away, checking over their homework and projects for any mistakes; keeping the peace between them and making sure that their heads were screwed on straight; inquiring after their well-being and generally being all the things a good big brother should be. He was someone that they had been able to count on as always being there; a pillar of support, someone who would be there for them to the end of the world and beyond.

It had never occurred to them what could happen if he had vanished without warning.

And then they had found out.

When he had disappeared (it gave Thundercracker a giddy little thrill that he didn't have to say "died" or "dead" or even use past tense anymore), they lost their pillar and had crumbled. It had taken a while for them to get back on their feet and on their way. Unconsciously, they had turned to Starscream for support, but he had been in no condition to be giving them the support they'd needed so badly. Starscream had been falling apart in Skyfire's absence and drowning in grief and guilt.

When Thundercracker had realized that Starscream couldn't be the "responsible big brother" that they'd needed, he'd done his best to step up and fill the gap; to be that pillar of strength and support. To be that big brother. He'd known that Skywarp had needed someone to rely on and so had Starscream even if he had never admitted it. Sometimes, he didn't think that he had succeeded, but other times, he'd been certain that he had made Skyfire proud.

But now... But now Skyfire was back. Thundercracker couldn't shake the feeling that they could pick up almost right where they had left off with a little bit of work. It was clear that Skywarp was all for doing so, but the blue Seeker wanted to tread about this a little more carefully. There was still the question of Starscream. There was a chance that the red-silver Seeker wouldn't even be remotely aware of Skyfire's living state and the last thing Thundercracker wanted to do was overwhelm either of his wing-mates. This was the second-biggest Primus-damned change they had experienced in their lives. While the three of them right now were still in a stage of adjusting, Skyfire was behind them, given his missed years. It would be best to go slowly at first, but he knew that there was no way in the Pit that he could convince Skywarp to take things slow.

Skyfire was probably expecting that anyways.

Their friendship hadn't even started out slow. Skywarp had poked and prodded and made a complete slagging nuisance of himself (to the point where it was amazing that Skyfire hadn't run away) until the Valkyrie had caved and started responding to their questions or chipping in to the conversation. Even now, Thundercracker didn't know what had driven the three of them to forge a friendship with the Valkyrie. It had seemed like Skyfire had already been their friend for years by the time they'd met him in school and that first meeting had been nothing more than just reuniting with an old friend. They had taken to him in an instant and then some unconscious decision had blossomed between the three of them. Skyfire would be their friend no matter what.

Thundercracker had said once that he wouldn't trade those years for anything. It was true. He wouldn't.

"Y'know, he blamed himself." Thundercracker said slowly after a while. Skyfire gave him a questioning look. "Starscream. He blamed himself for what happened to you."

"He did?" Skyfire asked softly.

"Always believed that it was his fault." the blue Seeker went on. "I don't think there's anything he could have done, but he kept on blaming himself. He never let it go."

"Sounds like Starscream." Skyfire said, a little sadly. He'd always had this feeling that Starscream might have felt responsible for the accident, but to hear it said made it worse.

"Yeah, well it was horrible to watch." Thundercracker said, looking skyward. He let go of a heavy sigh. "There was only one thing that he ever really wanted."

"And what was that?" the Valkyrie asked quietly.

Slowly, Thundercracker turned to face him and the look in his optics was almost spark-wrenching.

"Skyfire, please. Tell Starscream that it wasn't his fault. He needs to hear it from you."

The blue Seeker lowered his head, shoulders and wings quivering with long-suppressed tears. On his other side, Skyfire felt Skywarp lean against him, fists clenched around his hand.

"Just tell him that it wasn't his fault..."


	19. Chpt18: As One

**A/N: **This one was a long time in coming, but totally worth it, I promise you. I want to give huge massive thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed and just plain enjoyed this story; because that's what it is here for. To be enjoyed. And some more massive thanks just for sticking with it thus far and I hope you'll join me again when I come back from hiatus. Oh don't worry kids, the story is far from over. There's plenty left to be told. This is just the first arc. But right now, I need a breather, so I'm disappearing for the next two months. Don't give me that look; I've been working on this story for the better part of a year now. I'm entitled to a break every once in a while. There's a list in my profile about what you can anticipate to see coming next. Generally, what I'll be up to while I've dropped off the map.

And so, this is the chapter you've all been waiting so patiently for! But one final word...

**A word from Malachite Circle**: Yeah… I should apologize first and foremost. The only reason this story has had any delays at all is entirely because of me. I can't even blame it on an _Avatar_ fling either. This time around it was a combination of Macross Frontier and my "part-time job" becoming a "**not**-so-part-time job". ;

This wasn't even supposed to be its own chapter, honestly. I was just going to write an extra scene or two for her, because I had some ideas that I thought would be good. But, well… those two scenes turned into four, then eight, then… Well, y'all know how the plot bunnies breed.

Again, I am truly sorry for the delays. I know what it's like to love a story and have to WAIT for updates while hanging off the edge of a cliff. I hope you find this chapter to be worth the wait! Thank you SOOOOO much to everyone who reviewed!! Midnight Dreary did most of the work, of course, but reading all the positive feedback was very inspiring for me as well. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to her, for not only writing exactly the kind of Transformers fanfiction I've always wanted to read, but for letting me contribute to it.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Eighteen: As One

* * *

Fragments of images drifted past him. Smoke. Lots of smoke. Lots of sand. A huge silver monster standing before him. Harsh laughter rang in his audials, only to be drowned out by rage and thunder and the sound of someone screaming…

Consciousness flickered like an old fluorescent bulb for several moments before settling down and casting a steady light through Starscream's mind. He opened his optics hesitantly, wincing at the dull pain that pulsed through his head as he did so.

There wasn't much to see. He was laying half-propped up in a large, obviously well-stocked medbay. The lights above him were dimmed slightly, meaning he'd awakened in the middle of a recharge cycle. Machinery rumbled behind a distant wall somewhere and sterilized air hissed softly through vents in the ceiling. Other than that, everything was quiet. And he was alone. No telling when someone would come back and he could get some answers. As long as it wasn't one any of those Pit-spawned cassettes or--

Wait. Starscream blinked and his processor finally decided to start _processing_ like it was supposed to.

They (meaning the Decepticons) didn't have anything _nearly_ this new and shiny on Earth, or even anywhere close by. And he knew Megatron better than to think that the Decepticon leader would haul his sorry aft all the way back to the _Nemesis_ just to fix him up. _Megatron…_ More images flashed through his processor, faster than he could keep track of -- blue sky and scorched sand whirling around each other-- he was falling -- no, the jet was falling -- the silver Valkyrie jet--!

Starscream shook his head, hoping to jolt the images into some kind of order, or at the very least shake them _out_ of his mind. His head was beginning pound harder the more he tried to think, so maybe _not_ thinking would help. He laid his head back down and shuttered his optics.

Other than that, he actually felt pretty good. He'd finally been able to lie down and recharge for a good long while (Primus, it felt like weeks) and his back didn't hurt anymore.

Come to think of it, his back felt…odd. Numb. Like…something was missing…

The Seeker's optics snapped open again and he surged to his feet --or _tried_ to. He was bound to the berth at the ankle, waist, wrist, and chassis with heavy metal cuffs. An enraged cry burst from his throat as he struggled against his bonds; they didn't even quiver. He yelled again, half in a panic--

The next instant, several things happened at once.

White light seemed to burn through his optics as a door directly across from him slid open. The form of a mech was silhouetted in the doorway, but that was all Starscream could make out. At the same time, down past the rows of berths and storage cabinets, another door slid open at the far end of the medbay. There was no light from this one, though, and the two mechs currently tripping over each other to get through the doorway looked distinctly familiar--

"Screamer! You're awake!"

"How do you feel?"

"We thought you'd _never_--"

"You know it's been almost two weeks since--"

"I can't believe you actually _shot_ at Megatron!"

"And you'll never guess where we are--"

"We're in the Autobot's base!" Skywarp and Thundercracker finished in tandem. They stared at him expectantly; Starscream stared back, feeling rather like a sparkling who had accidentally been placed in an advanced physics class. (Of course, he'd been quite good at physics at the Lyceum …)

"Shall I translate that for you?" came a gravelly voice from his other side. He turned his head and saw another familiar yellow and green mech standing over him. Starscream's face automatically twisted into an expression of suspicion.

"You're the Autobots' medic aren't you?" he growled. "Mind 'translating' why the frag my _wings_ are sitting on the ground over there instead of on my back?"

"They were damaged and I had to remove any unnecessary strain on your system until you recovered," Ratchet replied, unperturbed by the steel-melting glare he was receiving. "I will, of course, reattach them as soon as they -- and you -- are fully repaired."

"He's right," Skywarp said in a small voice. "You were pretty banged up after the battle…"

"And the Autobots were the only ones with an actual medic," Thundercracker added, seeing the disbelief growing on his wing leader's face. "If we hadn't asked for their help… you probably wouldn't have made it."

"You can thank me later." Ratchet said gruffly, fiddling with some buttons beneath a small screen built into the wall next to him. "Step back, you two."

A switch clicked and the lights in the medbay brightened slowly. Something hummed above Starscream's head, beyond his line of vision, and he watched alternating lines of blue and red light move down his body. Ratchet rumbled something to himself and something else went _click_. The red light flickered up and down his body faster than the Seeker's optics could follow, then there was a soft _beep_; the light flashed twice, green this time, then shut off.

"Well, as the humans say, you seem to be out of the woods." The other two jets sighed in relief, visibly relaxing at the prognosis. Ratchet moved back into Starscream's line of vision and looked directly at him, his expression unreadable.

"How do you feel?"

The question struck his mind like a dropped stone, creating so many ripples he couldn't sort them out. He stared at Ratchet, distantly aware that his jaw was hanging open slightly, but he couldn't think of what to say. How _did_ he feel? Angry? Well, he was definitely _annoyed_ -- strapped to a medical berth like someone mentally unbalanced was _not_ his favorite way of waking up. But beyond that he really didn't know. Fear lanced suddenly through his spark. How could he not know? Something was _wrong_. Something was missing. He couldn't figure out what, though. Primus, he wished his head would stop pounding, made it so fragging hard to think--

"Screamer?"

Thundercracker and Skywarp hovered over him, worry and concern etched in every line of their faces -- and their optics--

Their optics were _blue_.

"Wha…?"

Starscream felt his jaw drop open in shock. His gaze flew over to Ratchet -- if the medic's optics were _red_ than he was certain his CPU was going to crash right then and there -- but no, he was an Autobot, after all. Blue as this squishy planet's sky. He looked back to his wing-mates -- had their optics really been blue this whole time? How could he not have noticed earlier?

His wing-mates glanced with each other, then they both looked at Ratchet. The medic nodded at them.

"Perhaps you'd like to start from the beginning?"

Thundercracker sighed resignedly.

"You remember," he began. "Back when the three of us were at the Flight Academy and Megatron was looking for Seekers?"

"What does this have to do with--"

"Let him finish," Ratchet cut him off; Starscream bristled.

"I don't take orders from Autobot slag--"

"When you're in _my_ medbay," Ratchet glowered, arms folded, looming over the Seeker. "You do."

They glared at each other for a moment. Thundercracker eyed both of them, and when neither offered any further argument, he went on.

"We didn't get our first deployment orders until after the real fighting started, right? We thought we'd be heading straight for the front lines, but we ended up going back to the Academy for 'combat enhancement upgrades' and--"

"You got called back because the scientists said your results from the test combat we did were off and they wanted to adjust your upgrades." Skywarp jumped in. "And then…everything about you changed."

"Everything about me changed." Starscream repeated flatly, frowning at both of them.

"Ratchet, show him." Thundercracker requested.

The medic reached into subspace briefly and pulled out a small black chip, holding it up delicately between his fingers.

"Megatron had these virus chips implanted in our CPUs along with our combat software upgrades." Thundercracker went on, his expression grim. "Without our knowledge. They were only supposed to activate in combat, and when they did, we…"

He trailed off, glancing around uncomfortably.

"What none of you knew." Ratchet rumbled from Starscream's other side, "Was that that set of 'combat upgrades' included a behavioral modification patch encoded with a virus that dramatically increased aggression levels while suppressing certain 'undesired' emotions -- compassion, honor, mercy…"

"Don't you think it was weird how you changed so quickly?" Skywarp added. "One day you were just a student worrying about passing the final exams and the next you were tearing through Autobots like every one of them had murdered your own parent-creators right in front of you!"

"They were our enemies! We were at war! Weren't you both the same way?" Starscream said accusingly. Skywarp flinched; Thundercracker's gaze darkened.

"Megatron brainwashed us." he said in a low voice. "He turned us into good little soldiers who followed orders and killed who they were ordered to without questioning. But _you_--" His tone sharpened. "You, he turned into something _else_. You threw away everything you believed in; everything you were taught. Especially after the Flotilla Massacre. You became some sort of monster."

Starscream flinched in spite of himself. _How do you feel?_ He felt…numb. What Ratchet had said explained a lot. Maybe too much. He knew what was missing now. With the personality-altering patch gone, all his anger and battle-lust was just… gone. All the countless battles he had taken part in suddenly felt like someone _else's_ memories. _Another_ mech had torn out the sparks of hated Autobots, blown so many others to slag… not him.

He thought about the Autobots now, thought about them _hard_, concentrating on Optimus, Ironhide, Sunstreaker, and tried to hate them. He _remembered_ hating them. He tried to imagine planting a triumphant foot on Ironhide's chassis and unleashing his null rays upon the Autobot until nothing was left but boiling slag. He tried to imagine _enjoying_ it like he once had.

Instead, he felt sick.

"What's wrong with me?" he whispered in disgust.

"There's nothing wr--" Skywarp began.

"_Everything _is wrong!" Starscream snarled. "Why am I not tearing this slagging Autobot's spark out? Why aren't you two blasting down the walls of their base and leaving them all to burn? Why are your fragging optics _blue?!_ Doesn't any of that seem _wrong_ to you?"

He paused to suck in a breath, glaring at his two Seekers.

"What Megatron did to us was wrong." Thundercracker's words were forged of steel.

"You weren't always like this, Screamer," Skywarp added; Starscream flinched when he heard the nickname. "Remember? You didn't hate everything--"

"Then what's left?" He was almost pleading. He stared up at them like they were the only mechs left in the universe. "What am I left with when-- when all that goes away?"

Skywarp and Thundercracker glanced at each other, sharing the same look of pity and anguish. Ratchet took a step back and turned away slightly. He'd been afraid of this exact scenario. He knew drastic personality reconditioning could fragment the mech's original personality to the point that it was irrecoverable. Even with the chip gone, there was every possibility that Starscream would simply revert back to his usual violent temperament rather than accept the change. His wing mates obviously cared about him a great deal, though, so Ratchet held onto the hope that they could bring their commander around.

"You wanted to be a scientist," Thundercracker was saying gently, hesitantly covering his winger-leader's clenched fist with his hand. "Remember when you were planning to enroll in Iacon Science Academy with--"

"No." Starscream shook his head fiercely -- that was _not_ what he needed to be reminded of right now. Starscream would have jerked his hand away had it not been bound by the metal cuffs. He felt cold and vulnerable without his wings. Pit, this felt just like that moment ages ago on Cybertron, that horrid moment in another medbay… He squeezed his optics shut, wishing he was _anywhere_ else other than here right now -- like in battle. That would be perfect. Twisting and diving through a reverse-rain of energy bolts, scattering the Autobot forces on the ground with his own deadly torrent of missiles and lasers, drowning that damnable memory in gunfire and flame and the all-consuming fever of war…

_Skyfire…_

The word flickered like silver wings through a storm.

_Skyfire's alive._

He shook his head sharply -- lies. Skyfire was gone. Gone because of him. And nothing could bring his best friend back. No matter how much he fought, no matter how many Autobots he killed, no matter how much firepower he unleashed on his enemies, _none_ of it could save--

_Skyfire's alive!_

Starscream tried to twist away from the hands that tried to grasp at his head and shoulders. Slaggit all, he couldn't hide anymore. Couldn't bury his grief in battle-lust; couldn't burn away his guilt with hatred. He wanted to. Anything was better than enduring _this_. That patch hadn't been so bad -- It had let him forget his pain, at least. It had given him another reason to live--

"Starscream, Skyfire's alive!"

Skywarp was shaking his shoulders, practically yelling in his face, his optics shining brightly.

"What…?" Starscream said in utter disbelief.

"Aw, frag, don't make him say it again." Thundercracker rolled his optics but there was a smile on his face.

"I'll say it as much as I want," Skywarp retorted. "Skyfire's alive!"

"How--"

"He was in terminal stasis-lock when we stumbled across his distress beacon by accident." Ratchet said.

"But--"

"And I only detected it because I happened to be standing directly over him at the time," the medic went on before the Seeker could get another word in edgewise. "It was extremely weak; I'm not surprised everyone thought he was lost for good."

Starscream stared at Ratchet; he could feel his mouth wanting to form words, but nothing came out. Memories drifted back through his mind: a silver Valkyrie descending through the clouds, here on Earth… He looked back over to his wing mates, who only smiled back as though everything was right at last in the universe.

Something clicked near his head and the metal cuffs binding him to the medical berth retracted. Starscream shot to his feet, ignoring Ratchet's startled "Hey!" and wrapped his arms around both his wing mates.

"He's really alive?" he whispered. It wasn't that he didn't trust their word -- they were his best friends after all. But this was just too much, too good to be true, too much to hope for…

"He is." Thundercracker murmured while Skywarp nodded fiercely. "Alive and well -- and guess what? He's a scientist."

Ratchet turned away as Starscream's shoulders began to shake. Though it was late at night, he was certain that Prime was still up and about, so…

"Ratchet to Prime."

"_Prime here._" came the prompt reply.

"Just thought I'd let you know that I don't think Ironhide's sentry detail outside my medbay is necessary anymore."

There was silence on the other end of the comm. for a moment.

"_Then the Seekers--?_"

"Have all made a full recovery." Ratchet finished. "Including you-know-who. I was concerned about a relapse, but his friends seem to have talked him out of it."

"_Mmm._"_ Optimus mused. _"_Perhaps Starscream is a stronger mech than we gave him credit for previously."_

Ratchet snorted. "Primus, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that was **admiration** I heard there."

Optimus chuckled softly. _"You should ask Skyfire about him sometime."_

Ratchet **hmph**ed but didn't argue the point. "I'll keep you informed of any developments, Prime."

"_Please do,_" Optimus replied. "_And Ratchet -- thank you for doing this. This has given me more reason to hope for a peaceful end to this war than I have had in a long time._"

Ratchet nodded, glancing back at the Seekers. They still huddled close together, arms wrapped tightly around each others' shoulders.

"Just between you and me, Prime," he said softly. "I feel the same way."

"_Good night then._"

"Good night sir."

Ratchet turned back to the three jets and cleared his throat loudly.

"This is all very touching but _some_ of you--" he speared Thundercracker and Skywarp with an accusatory look. "Have spent quite enough time taking up space in my supply closet."

"But it was empty--" Skywarp protested; Thundercracker elbowed him in the chassis.

"You've been camped out in the _supply closet_?" Starscream echoed in mingled disbelief and amusement.

"We were worried about you," Skywarp answered sheepishly. "And it was the only place Ironhide couldn't jump on us with his fragging cannons every five kliks."

"Now, now, we'll make sure the big mean Weapons Specialist doesn't pick on you anymore." Ratchet patted Skywarp's shoulder in a mock-fatherly sort of way. "So why don't you head off to your _own_ quarters and we'll continue this little reunion _after_ we've all had a decent recharge, okay?"

As he spoke, he moved around Skywarp and gave the Seeker a meaningful shove in the direction of the door.

"Hey -- hey, you're patronizing me, aren't you! TC--" He shot his friend a pleading look over his shoulder as Ratchet continued pushing him along like a stubborn sparkling.

Thundercracker shook with silent laughter; Starscream appeared to be smiling, but his gaze was distant.

"C'mon, 'Warp," Thundercracker said, leaving Starscream's side and taking his friend's other arm. "Let's go tell 'Fire that Screamer's awake."

Skywarp's reluctance to leave the medbay vanished in an instant. "Yeah! Hey-- yeah! I bet he'll want to come visit--!"

"In the morning, AFTER he's had a proper night's rest!" Ratchet interrupted, brandishing a wrench. "Out! Out!"

The doors to the medbay hissed open, but the two Seekers did not step through them right away. Instead they both turned as if on a silent cue and looked back at Starscream, who stood next to the medical berth, looking somehow forlorn. For a long moment, the three former Decepticons gazed at each other, expressions subtle and unreadable. Ratchet could only imagine what memories passed silently between them as they stood there.

The silence had stretched to the point of awkwardness when Thundercracker's face relaxed into a wistful smile.

"It's good to have you back, Screamer," he said, his blue optics gleaming.

Starscream blinked once, slowly, then bowed his head. He nodded very slightly, as though afraid to speak.

"We'll come see you again in the morning," Skywarp added encouragingly.

The medical officer tapped the wrench pointedly against his palm and the two jets relented. The instant the door slid shut behind them, Starscream sat back down on the medical berth with a heavy _**thud**_, as though the rope holding him upright had finally snapped.

At any other time, Ratchet would made some typically grouchy admonishment about how mechs flopping down on his medical berths like they were rec room benches was no way to treat the delicate equipment that had just saved their lives. But Starscream looked so uncharacteristically hopeless sitting there, hunched over his knees, head bowed, that all his annoyance just fizzled out. In its place was lingering disbelief and a maddening desire to say something to make the Seeker feel better.

Ratchet suppressed a snort as he gazed down at Starscream. Primus, this situation still seemed impossible. Not that he was unhappy with the turn of events, but he was certain that _somewhere_ in the universe, reality had broken itself irreparably, with the end result now sitting here in his med bay. The once arrogant, ambitious, self-serving, ruthless Decepticon second-in-command sat silent and vulnerable in the stronghold of his former enemies. The irony was almost thick enough to choke on.

Rather than continue staring down at Starscream -- though he didn't appear to even notice -- Ratchet went to a cabinet on the opposite wall and opened it.

"I should be finished with repairs to your wings in no more than two days, possibly by late tomorrow." he said, pulling out several delicate-looking tools. "Until then you need to rest, because repaired or not, you're not flying again until I say you're ready."

Silence was the only reply he received. Ratchet glanced back in time to see Starscream clench two trembling hands together, his head still bowed.

"So what happens now?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Like I told the other two, Optimus will most likely give you the option of staying here, joining the Autobots," Ratchet answered. "Whether or not you decide to accept his offer is entirely up to you."

He cocked an eye-ridge at the Seeker.

"Although given the depth of friendship Thundercracker and Skywarp have shown with Skyfire, even after all this time as enemies, I'd say that leaving might be quite a mistake."

"How many other mechs would agree with that?" Starscream asked bitterly.

"Feeling guilty, are we?" Ratchet said lightly. Starscream glanced up, and the venomous anger in his optics, mixed with confusion and pain told Ratchet that his words had struck home.

"I don't know if you're aware of it, but humans have the concept of a 'conscience'," Ratchet went on. "It's a subconscious judge of what is right and wrong--"

"I know what a conscience is!" Starscream snarled, slamming his hands down on the metal berth. "I suppose you enjoy rubbing that in my face? You think I don't remember all the soldiers of yours I scrapped on the battlefield? Having that fragging chip in my head doesn't mean I'm not responsible -- but what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? 'I'm sorry?' 'It wasn't my fault?'"

"That would be a good start." Ratchet said, folding his arms over his chassis.

Starscream laughed harshly. "You can't be serious…This war has gone on far too long for _that_ to mean anything anymore."

Ratchet regarded him for a moment. He hadn't expected quite _this_ much of a difference in Starscream's behavior. With their chips removed, Thundercracker and Skywarp were less violent, of course, but their general attitudes and their relationship with each other had remained largely the same. Given that Starscream's virus chip had been much stronger and more complex… Maybe it _needed_ to be in order to suppress the strength of his original personality.

"Optimus believes it does," Ratchet said finally; Starscream snorted.

"And don't I wish every mech here was as understanding and naïve as _him_."

"He's giving you a second chance." Ratchet said sharply. "And frankly it's the only choice you have -- unless you want to go back to Megatron--"

"Never."

Starscream's optics were chips of glacial ice; his voice quivered very slightly as he spoke.

"I will _never_ go back to that."

"So you'll become an Autobot?"

Starscream was silent for a long moment. The hard, frozen expression faded slowly and he lay back on the berth, bringing one arm up over his face.

"No matter what Optimus says, they'll hate me for a long time, won't they." he said softly.

"Most likely." Ratchet answered. He paused. "…Do you think you deserve it?"

A soft, pained laugh escaped Starscream's vocal processors. The hand over his face clenched slightly.

"More than you know," he whispered. Ratchet winced internally. Much as he hated to admit it, he nothing but pity for the Seeker now.

"Thundercracker was right. I've betrayed everyone, everything I ever believed in," Starscream went on in that same, almost inaudible whisper. Ratchet stood quietly, watching him, letting him talk. "My whole life during the war was a lie. I killed…so many mechs, all in the name of a _lie_. I slaughtered any Autobots I came across, as many as I could, and then I looked for more--"

His words died in what was unmistakably a choked sob. Ratchet felt his own spark twist in sympathy. Part of him grouched, _I'm not a psychiatrist, I'm not a counselor, why __**me**__?_ But he'd seen enough battle trauma to know that some things you just couldn't talk about with friends or comrades. With the chip gone, Starscream was obviously struggling to deal with a mountain of confusion and guilt that had come crashing down. He needed someone on the "other side" to hear him out and not condemn his words or his emotions.

"You have a chance to atone for that now." Ratchet said, in a truly rare moment of open sympathy. "Don't give up on that. It doesn't matter what any other mech here thinks -- you have just as much reason to hate Megatron and fight against him as anyone else."

"Megatron…"

The name was spoken like a curse, as though Starscream was spitting out something foul and rotten. Ratchet saw the Seeker's hands clench, saw his whole body quiver.

"He will pay."

Starscream sat up abruptly and fixed a burning gaze on Ratchet, twin points of azure flame.

"Megatron will pay for every spark he's torn away in this war." he said in a voice that made the cold of outer space feel warm and inviting. "I swear it."

He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists now, and shuttered his optics.

"By my own hands, he will pay…I swear it…"

Ratchet hid a sigh of relief. Only time would tell how well Starscream -- and the other Seekers, for that matter -- would come to terms with what they had done during the war. But for now, if a vow of vengeance kept him from breaking down or worse, relapsing, then Ratchet would take it.

"Right then." he said briskly, making a show of examining the nearly-forgotten tools he'd retrieved from the cabinet. "My condition still stands: you rest up properly and _then_ I'll reattach your wings and you can fly off and get all the revenge you want."

Starscream looked up again and Ratchet thought he saw a smile soften the jet's features for just a moment. He lay back on the medical berth, shuttering his optics with a sigh. Ratchet set to work on the Seeker's wings, making sure the smaller connecting servos were tightened properly. Behind him, Starscream didn't say anything more, neither did he move, but it was a long time before he fell back into recharge.

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW! I think the painkillers are wearing off."

"Good."

"Good? How is that good?! I'm in pain!"

"Quit your bitching. I'm almost finished."

"I can't believe took my wings off. I don't care if you are a medic; I don't care if it was for my own good, **no one** is allowed to pull my wings off!"

"Quit moving around!" Ratchet slapped the fidgeting Seeker on the shoulder, causing a jolt of pain to run down Starscream's back. "I just need to make a few more adjustments, then you can go."

Starscream hunched down over his knees and growled in exasperation. He'd been stuck in this mind-numbing position for nearly an hour now. Not only that, but spending the whole day cooped up in the medical bay was making him feel distinctly claustrophobic. He'd been told that he had lain unconscious in this very room for nearly two weeks after his wing mates had brought him to the Autobots, which further explained the desire to see open sky that was rapidly chewing through his sanity and his patience.

Something on his back tightened abruptly, but not painfully, and the discomfort quickly faded into a feeling of solid, comforting weight.

"There!" Ratchet lay his wrench down with a **thunk**. "Good as new. Now go on -- and crash into anything, you'll be waiting _another_ two weeks for me weld them back on again!"

Starscream barely heard Ratchet's traditional departing "blessing" as he left the med bay as fast as was reasonably possible. The austere metal hallways of the _Ark_ were thankfully empty of other mechs as he made his way, following the newly-posted signs, to the exit. He paused for a moment in the open doorway, savoring the flow of the fresh, sage-scented breeze through his intakes. It looked like the Autobots had picked out a good place to land the _Ark_, at least. High cliffs of red stone, plenty of warm updrafts that he could ride high into the azure sky above. Yes, definitely good.

Something deep within his spark clenched almost painfully at the sight of that endless sky. It felt like eons since he had last flown. Since he had last _wanted_ to fly, simply for the sake of feeling the wind over his wings and seeing everything beneath him fall away into insignificant blurs of color. He wondered where his wing-mates were. Ratchet had refused entry to the medbay all morning until he had finished examining the Seeker wing-leader. Starscream had assumed 'Warp and TC would have been hovering outside the doors, waiting to tackle him gleefully to the ground… but they weren't. Were they avoiding him? And Skyfire…

Starscream growled and thumped his forehead with the heel of one hand-- _Slag it all to the Pit, this is too much to think about at once. _

He dashed forward out of the _Ark_ and into the early evening shadows of the gorge. A few short, powerful strides and he leapt into the air, transforming with blinding speed. His whole body ached in protest -- it had been nearly two weeks since he'd used his alt-mode, after all -- but his engines burned strong, pushing him above the lip of the gorge and up into the deepening cerulean sky. That sort of combined short takeoff and transformation was difficult even when he was at the top of his form, and he savored a glow of pride in managing to pull it off mere minutes after walking out of the medbay. He stubbornly ignored the throbbing of his back and wings, and the pain eased as he gained altitude and leveled off. Still, Starscream made a mental not to try that again anytime soon. Ratchet seemed much more amiable than Hook, as unreal as that sounded, but he didn't want to take the chance of being grounded for **another** two weeks because Ratchet needed to fix his wings again.

Air whistled over the sleek form of his F-22 alt-mode as he edged his nose up, gaining a bit more altitude. He didn't know, or even particularly care, where he was going, but there were mountains in front of him, their sharp-edged peaks blazing under the setting sun. Something tugged his spark in that direction and he followed it, leaving all other thoughts behind in the shadows of pursuing night.

* * *

Muddy brown eyes blinked slowly at him, entirely unimpressed by the fact that he wasn't a naturally occurring phenomenon anywhere on this planet. The lizard shifted its clawed feet slightly and made itself more comfortable on the warm metal of Skyfire's chassis. Evidently it wasn't planning on going anywhere for a while.

Wheeljack had gotten fed up with Skyfire moping around his lab, fiddling with his experiments/inventions, and had finally chased him out around mid-day, insisting that a "real scientist" would get out there and plunge neck-deep into the entire planet's worth of undiscovered knowledge they were sitting on. Skyfire suspected Wheeljack just didn't want anyone "de-explosifying" any of his experiments. He secretly harbored the belief that the inventor **enjoyed** all the smoke and loud noises. It was sort of like a scaled-down version of the war against the Decepticons with a slightly lower mortality rate. **Slightly.**

So Skyfire had spent several hours picking through the rocky desert terrain outside the _Ark_. There wasn't an overwhelming amount of organic life present in such a dry environment, but what he did find was fascinating and indeed, humbling. Organic life evolved over time to adapt to its environment, under its own power and ingenuity. Cybertronians had changed over time, of course, but that was due largely to technological advances, new discoveries in refining metal, and the like. Organic life by comparison seemed so much more… independent.

Enthralling as it all was, the warmth shimmering down from the bright desert sky eventually overpowered even his scientific mind, and he slipped into a lazy, blissful recharge about halfway through the afternoon.

He had awoken late in the day, as the sun was sinking towards the mountains to his left. He'd drifted for a few minutes in a daze, drowsy from the lingering heat radiating up from the sand. Then he opened his optics and saw the lizard. He froze, not wanting to scare it off with any sudden movements. But it completely ignored him, appearing more interested in cozying up to its newfound heat source.

Skyfire supposed he didn't mind spending a night out in the desert keeping a small reptile company. It was nice looking at the stars through an atmosphere for a change; they somehow seemed more mystical now, flickering to life above him like distant candles. Prowl would probably worry about where he was, but he could always send him a comm, say he was in the middle of an important observation of biological organisms in their natural environment. Skyfire couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of that conversation. It faded quickly, however, when he thought about the _other_ reason why he was reluctant to return to the _Ark._

Thundercracker and Skywarp were there now. And Starscream. A _newly-awakened_ Starscream. This development had warranted Skywarp happily dragging him out of recharge at some Primus-forsaken hour of the night, which was probably why he fell asleep in the middle of research (not that this was anything terribly unusual).

They were his friends, of course, and it wasn't that he **didn't** want to spend time with them. It was just… awkward. Ratchet was the only other mech on the whole vessel who didn't tense up or glare suspiciously whenever one of the former Decepticons walked by. Even Optimus, for all his generosity and patience, seemed wary about approaching them. He had spent more time than usual talking privately with Prowl and Ratchet over the past week. Skyfire knew exactly what they were discussing. He also knew that Optimus Prime was not the kind of leader who would just ignore stress in his subordinates, especially if that stress threatened the group's morale. He just wished Prime would hurry up with whatever decision he was trying to make and _make_ it already. Wasn't that what leaders were supposed to do?

Skyfire put his hands behind his head, careful to not disturb the lizard and stared up into the clear sky, his thoughts churning. The peaceful evening did nothing to calm his mind, but he couldn't bear going back to the _Ark_, back to that charged atmosphere of anxiety and distrust--

"Hey 'Warp, he's over here!"

Following that familiar voice, heavy metal footsteps crunched through sand and gravel at increasingly rapid intervals. A moment later the blue-chromed, blue-opticed head of Thundercracker appeared upside-down above him.

"Did you fall into recharge or something, 'Fire? I tried calling you like, six times today and you didn't answer." Thundercracker frowned down at him. "We were worried."

"Um-- sorry, yeah, I did-- I was out here, um, studying." He nodded his head down toward the lizard still perched on his chassis. Thundercracker rolled his optics.

"Nice to see some things never change--"

"Hiya 'Fire!" Skywarp's head popped into view, sideways.

"Hey 'Warp." Skyfire greeted him lazily.

Skywarp kneeled beside him, already eyeing the lizard with fascination. He had never seen such a skinny, scaly organic before and this one was a rather nice-looking black-spotted one with yellowish skin.

"It's a lizard; a leopard gecko, to be precise." Skyfire told him. Skywarp poked the reptile gently with tip of his finger. The lizard seemed entirely unperturbed by the new intrusion. "I think it might be someone's escaped house-pet because they're not native to this region."

"People keep those things as pets?" Thundercracker shook his head. "I may have said this before, but humans are _weird_."

"You would know." Skywarp muttered. "Having all that nerdy science scrap stuffed in your processor..."

At this point, he plucked the lizard from Skyfire's chassis, holding it by its tail with two fingers.

"Ah-- 'Warp, maybe you oughta put it down--" Skyfire started, but the lizard was already taking matters into its own hands. In one wriggle, the lizard seemingly dropped from Skywarp's grasp. It hit the ground running and scrambled for the cover of the rocks nearby, leaving Skywarp holding the detached, wiggling tail. The black jet took one look at it and threw it away with a small scream.

"I broke it!"

"No-- you didn't!"

"I killed it!"

"'Warp, you didn't kill it! It-- It--"

Skyfire quickly looked at Thundercracker for assistance, but the blue Seeker was being of no help; too busy laughing over what was going on.

"Then why the Pit did it fall off like that?!" Skywarp asked, pointing wildly towards the tail where it had landed a good twenty feet away and then swinging his hand around to the rocks where the lizard had taken refuge.

"It does that. It's a -- a defense mechanism." Skyfire explained quickly, skimming through what information he'd gathered on desert life. "Like whenever Starscream clammed up on a subject he didn't want to talk about."

"Oh." Skywarp's optics went round with understanding. "He still does that, actually."

"And it's still annoying." Thundercracker put in. "And speaking of whom..."

He pointed to the familiar form of a F-22 Raptor passing high overhead, the red and silver coloring just visible in the waning light on the sun. Skyfire shot to his feet, spark constricting and fuel pump sent racing in an instant.

"Finally!" Skywarp wasn't nearly as tense as Skyfire and he started away. "Let's go--"

"Wait!" Skyfire reflexively grabbed Skywarp's wing, stopping him mid-stride. "Please -- let me talk to him. By myself."

Skywarp started to pout. "But he's been in the medbay for two weeks--"

"No 'Warp, please, I really think I should talk to him by myself first." Skyfire said, hoping that the black jet would just listen to him, half-glancing to Thundercracker for any support. The blue Seeker said and did nothing, however; just stood nearby with his arms crossed. He already seemed to understand.

Skywarp looked away for a moment, obviously thinking. Then, he stepped aside with a sigh.

"Right. You're better at this anyways." he said. "Just leave him in one piece, okay?"

Skyfire was momentarily taken aback. Then he remembered a few previous conversations.

"I am not going to beat him up." the Valkyrie said, frowning.

"Hey, you kept saying--" Skywarp started, but Thundercracker interrupted him.

"Hey! Hurry up or you're gonna lose him!"

Skyfire looked up and saw that Starscream's form was growing smaller and smaller with each second that passed. He darted away and broke into a run until he had enough speed for a good headwind and then transformed, pushing up into the sky, using his alt-mode's impressive speed to catch up. He knew what had to happen next and part of him just wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

Starscream was coasting through the atmosphere's upper levels when he finally heard it. His audials picked up the thrum of the other engines before his sensors ever found that familiar shape. His spark gave a tight clench. This was it. Everything that had never happened before was happening now.

How long had he dreamed of something like this? How many nights had he lain awake, wondering what his life would be like if Skyfire had never crashed. Nothing had been the same afterwards. Losing Skyfire had _hurt_; more than he ever would have thought. Skyfire had always been there; the audial that would listen, the shoulder to cry on, the voice that spoke advice, the warm, steady, solid presence that was there to support them through anything. The older brother in everything but spark.

And then he'd just been gone.

No warning. Just one final scream.

And then the world as he'd known it had simply ceased to exist.

Starscream pushed himself up a little higher, to where the air was thin and cold and the stars shone brighter than ever. The earth below him was aglow with dozens of lights and for a moment, he imagined that it was Cybertron he was flying over. Cybertron of old; the one that had existed before the war.

The war.

The damned war.

The very thing responsible for stripping the remains of his life, his freedom, and everything that had made him who he was from him.

What had he really fought for? Megatron had merely stuffed a lie down his throat and had let him chew on it for a while, but the words had tasted hollow and bitter. Fighting for Cybertron's glorious future. Hah! Cybertron had no future now. Megatron's own greed and lust for power had seen to that.

In reality, wars were fought and won for one reason and one reason only. A reason that Starscream had let slip his mind for a long time. The very reason he had railed against Megatron's rule for as long as he had.

"I think I just wanted to be free…"

And then he cut his engines and let himself fall.

* * *

The roar of wind in Skyfire's audials changed pitch slightly and he saw Starscream's flight waver. It took him a second to realize that Starscream had cut his engines -- cut them completely -- and only a second longer for the irrefutable laws of aerodynamics to drag him down into a steep dive.

"_Starscream?_" Skyfire dropped altitude to follow him.

The Seeker fell, silent and swift as a dropped stone; he didn't utter a sound even when a cross-breeze wrenched his dive into a sickening tumble.

"_Starscream, snap out of it!_" Skyfire yelled, desperate. He noticed dimly that the snow-dappled mountains below were growing larger at an alarming rate.

"_What in Primus' name are you doing?! Starscream! Starscream!!_"

Skyfire's own dive steepened further; alarms flashed through the back of his processor -- this wasn't safe, he was dropping too fast, his control was too precarious. Air howled over his wings, tearing through clouds and leaving them in tatters. His fuel tank felt like he'd left it floating somewhere in the upper atmosphere.

"_Starscream, answer me!_" Skyfire fought a mad impulse to fire a laser or two at his friend to see if _that_ would get him a response. Their fall seemed to last ages; Skyfire was plunging so fast he felt almost weightless. But the terror filling his mind was edged with… excitement. Exultation. He hadn't flown like this since… He couldn't remember when.

…Part of him had missed it.

Alarms screeched in the back of his CPU –

**WARNING-TERMINAL VELOCITY REACHED -- Distance To Ground: 16,000 Feet -- TIME UNTIL IMPACT: 22.85 Seconds and Counting**

_Slag!!_ Skyfire's engines roared and his ailerons vibrated almost painfully as air tore at them. Metal groaned as he wrenched his nose upward and slowly dragged his massive Valkyrie form out of the dive. He skimmed along a short horizontal path less than five hundred feet above the ground before momentum shot him skyward again. Sonic booms thundered in his wake, and the sheer, uncontrolled speed left him dizzy and giddy. Still, he held on to enough awareness to snap his sensors downward towards Starscream.

Who was still plummeting towards the earth.

"_Slag it, Starscream!_" he screamed in mingled frustration and terror. "_Are you __**trying**__ to kill yourself?!_"

The F-22's darkened engines flared to sudden, blazing life. The wild tailspin wobbled for a moment, then slowed to an almost lazy roll. Just when it seemed certain he was going to smash into the mountainside below, his air brakes snapped open and Starscream flicked his nosecone around, arcing up through a perfect parabola that made Skyfire feel like a lumbering freighter by comparison.

Starscream climbed toward the heavens again, condensed vapor trailing off his wingtips like silver streamers. He cut his engines again, letting momentum carry him upwards a few hundred feet farther. At the apex of that climb, he paused, momentum and gravity held in perfect balance for a single, breathless instant. As he began to fall again, he transformed back into his standard mode and landed with a loud _crunch_ on both feet several seconds later.

His fuel pump hammering wildly, Skyfire throttled back as much as he dared, angling his massive jet form for landing. Starscream was standing on a large, relatively flat and open patch of rock nestled between two sharply-angled mountains. Landing there would have been impossible for any human aircraft, but Skyfire thankfully possessed nothing in the way of human technology.

He snapped through a transformation just before touching down and used his remaining momentum to carry him forward one, two, three long strides until he was standing directly in front of Starscream.

"What the _slag_ has gotten into you?" he yelled, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and shaking furiously. "Since _when_ do you pull glitch-headed slag like that?! I thought you were gonna--"

"Is that what it felt like?" Starscream asked softly. Skyfire blinked.

"What are you tal--"

"When you fell. Back then. On that planet." Starscream turned away slightly, his face eerily empty of emotion. "Was that what it felt like to fall, completely out of control?"

Skyfire glared back, anger twisting hot inside him.

"I guess so." he retorted, releasing his grip on Starscream's shoulders with a slight shove. "Is _that_ what it felt like to watch your best friend plunge to his death?"

Starscream flinched, a pained expression twisting his face. He turned around quickly, looking out over the dark, mountainous landscape stretching out below him.

Skyfire stared at Starscream's back for a moment, then sighed heavily.

"It was an accident." he said, some of his anger slipping away. "TC and 'Warp -- they said I should tell you--"

"What -- that _it wasn't my fault?_" Starscream hissed, turning back around, his optics blazing. "Whose idea was it to go flying up at the pole that day? Who talked you into skipping research for an afternoon to 'go explore and have some fun'?"

"It wasn't your fault!" Skyfire yelled. "Accidents happen -- and that's all it was--"

"I thought you were dead!" Starscream burst out, quivering to the tips of his wings. "Primus help me, I thought you were gone _forever_--"

"Hello?" Skyfire waved his arms wildly. "I'm right here, slag-head! Not dead!"

"Stop that!" Starscream slapped at one of his hands, his optics gleaming over-bright.

"Make me!"

Starscream grabbed at another fist that whooshed past his face and missed. Then he launched himself at the Valkyrie with a furious snarl. Skyfire managed to turn and catch most of the blow on his shoulder, but Starscream followed through with an unexpected, left-hand punch that sent him staggering.

"You glitch -- that hurt!" He grappled with the smaller jet for a moment, then found his footing again and shoved hard. Starscream stumbled back, slipping on several loose stones and falling hard down on his side. Skyfire watched him for a moment, rubbing the side of his head where Starscream's blow had connected; air hissed loudly through his intakes.

"I thought you were _dead_." Starscream repeated in a low, hard tone. He was staring at the ground. "I thought it was my fault. That's why I dropped out of the Science Academy. Why I joined Megatron's army and became a soldier. I didn't want to _think_ anymore."

"It wasn't your fault." Skyfire said quietly. Starscream didn't answer, only clenched his fist against the ground.

"Starscream!" he all but yelled. The other Seeker jumped slightly, automatically glancing up to meet his gaze. Skyfire marched forward and bent down until he was eye-level with him.

"Repeat after me," he ordered, though his dire tone was ruined by the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "'You getting frozen at the bottom of a lake for 245 vorns on a backwater organic planet was in no way my fault.'"

Starscream glared at him. "That's not funny."

"Oh, sorry, was that too long for you?" Skyfire rolled his optics. "Am I gonna have to make it shorter so you 'don't have to think' about it so much? How's this -- 'It wasn't my fault.' Just say that much."

Starscream stared at him for a long moment; Skyfire could see his jaw clenching with some great inner struggle.

"It… wasn't…." He managed to grate out before he had to squeeze his optics shut and bow his head, his expression twisting in grief. Skyfire put a gentle hand on his friend's wing.

"It wasn't your fault." he repeated. Another strangled moment passed, and Starscream's hunched shoulder relaxed.

"You're right," he whispered, his head still bowed. "It wasn't… my fault…"

He glanced up at Skyfire, a grin wavering to life across his face.

"It certainly wasn't my fault you were a complete aft-backwards glitch-ridden _**imbecile**_ for pulling a stunt like that back then." he added cheekily, pushing Skyfire's hand off his wing and rising to his feet. "A free-fall dive above a _frozen_ _ocean_? Did you listen to _**anything**_ our flight instructors taught us?!"

Skyfire rolled his optics. "I paid more attention in those classes than you did, and we both know it."

"Yeah?" Starscream shot back. He was grinning wickedly now. "Well, let's just see who the better flier is now, hotshot!"

Then he turned, dashed a few strides and leapt off the edge of the cliff, transforming before he'd even fallen out of sight. The howl of the Raptor's engines echoed discordantly off the mountains around them.

"It's certainly not the one who decided that he could fly through the halls of the Lyceum and not crash!" Skyfire retorted, getting a running start of his own off the edge of the cliff.

"_Hah! I've had plenty of time to practice since then -- you're over 200 vorns behind me_!" Starscream cackled, skimming sideways along the sheer side of a mountain.

"_Two hundred vorns?_" Skyfire laughed as he transformed and roared off in pursuit_. _"_That sounds like just enough of a head-start for us to be about equal now!_"

Light flashed off his left wing and suddenly Skywarp was flying next to him.

"_I still beat __**both**__ of you._"the black and purple jet said smugly.

"_That's __**cheating**__, 'Warp._"Thundercracker's voice crackled over the comm.

Skywarp sighed dramatically; light flashed again, twice, in quick succession, and he was soaring along upside down above Starscream.

"_The only ones who complain about 'cheating'_," he began loftily. "_Are the losers! Catch me if you can!_"

He tapped Starscream's canopy glass briefly, cackling with laughter, and teleported away again.

"_Oh no, you did __**not**__ just--_"

"_He's behind you 'Fire!_"

"_Get him!_"

"_Ow-- Hey!-- Tree! __**Tree!!**_"

"_Aaaaaggh! Get off!_"

"_Hah-haah! Screamer's tagged!_"

"_Get back here!_"

"_Eat my vapor trails slaggers! HAAH!!_"

"_Too slow, TC!_"**thud**

"_H-hey! What're you coming after __**me**__ for?_"

"_You're too slow!_"

"_Oooh, not nearly slow enough--_"

Four fleeting points of light darted madly through a night sky swept with glistening stars, spiraling up and out and around in controlled chaos. Eventually though, they slowed, calmed, fell into a ragged line and tracked back toward the east. Soaring through the high, cold layers of the atmosphere, Skyfire felt something more than just wind bearing him up beside his friends -- it was happiness. _Real_, pure, giddy happiness, the kind he hadn't experienced since his time at the Iacon Lyceum.

None of them could deny that they had all changed since that time, changed beyond what any of them had ever imagined possible.

And yet…

Ahead of him, Starscream dipped his wing a fraction, banking very slightly towards the south. Moonlight gleamed on three other pairs of wings as they followed suit an instant later, each jet maintaining the same precise distance from the other. Skywarp wondered briefly when exactly they had fallen into formation -- he hadn't noticed until just then.

"…'_Til all are one…_"

"_What?_" Skywarp asked, and Skyfire jolted slightly in flight. He hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud.

"_I dunno -- it's part of a poem or something we read in literature class back at the Lyceum._" he elaborated. "_I don't remember how it goes, exactly… I just thought of it now, for some reason…_"

They lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment.

"_A hundred voices, but one word spoken,_" Starscream recited softly. "_But one evil, a hundred lives broken."_

"_Hey, I think I remember that._" Skywarp muttered; Starscream went on as though he hadn't noticed.

"_A hundred tears from a single sorrow_

_A single choice divides all tomorrows._

"_Distant stars share the same fire_

_As warrior's spark, as mourning pyre_

_Blinding shadow hides deepest light_

_As turning sky holds day and night_

"_The strength of Primus flows through all_

_Bears up those who would but fall_

_Beyond the storms of wrath and shame,_

'_Til all are one, in Primus' Name."_

The last few words seemed to echo slightly over the comm, as though in benediction. Skyfire felt a deep shiver run through him, humming in his spark. He'd never thought of himself as a very philosophical mech, but at that moment, soaring through a shining velvet sky with his wing-mates, his three best friends in all the universe, he could almost believe that some higher power had been guiding their paths all along.

For once even Skywarp didn't have anything teasing to say as they flew back to the _Ark_. The silence between them didn't feel silent anymore, but rather filled with wind and starlight and the thunderous harmony of four pairs of engines. No longer in missing man formation, the four Seekers flew as one once again.

--**Arc One:** **Seekers** Complete--


	20. Chpt 19: The Virtue of Patience

**A/N:** Thank you all for waiting so patiently for the last two months and welcome back! I've been looking forward to getting back to this since September began! I almost didn't want to keep you all waiting so long, but if I had kept up the pace I had been going at, I think my brain would have exploded.

So here we are at the beginning of Arc Two and this kicks off a new sequence of events. We meet a new set of familiar Autobots, an old and new set of familiar Decepticons, and a group of unfamiliar original characters, who I promise are important to the story. We get away from Earth for a little while and see what's going on in other parts of the universe; even as far back as Cybertron. Mind you, this arc is going to be updated with much less frequency than the previous one, because this one is still -- under construction, I could guess you could say. One of the original characters is giving me fits and I have this itching to do a lot more with Soundwave and Barricade. So updates of this will be interspersed with updates of **Aftermath** and the Seeker backstory, the first chapter of which will be up next Friday.

**Important note regarding this chapter.** I suppose you could call this chapter an extended flashback, as it goes back to before the Autobots landed on Earth, back to the launch of the AllSpark. This chapters goes BACK IN TIME, so don't get confused if you see a character or two who was on Earth in the previous arc.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Nineteen: The Virtue of Patience

* * *

--Somewhere deep in space, a long, long distance from Earth and a ways into the past--

The Korajii asteroid belt had once been a rich mine of minerals and metal; nearly overflowing with materials essential to a mechanoid war. However, it was of no use these days. The asteroid belt had been mined clean long ago. On the larger planetoids was evidence that there had been a mining facility located here, but the facility had been blasted apart; albeit somewhat accidentally by an Autobot saboteur back when the war had been relatively young. Not that it particularly mattered; the mining facility had been Decepticon-controlled anyways. But the ruins were finally being put to good use after so long and now everything waited patiently.

"'S quiet out there."

"Yes! A little -- _too_ quiet."

"You didn't have to agree so quickly."

"But it is. We've known that the Decepticons have been plotting something for months now! What if they've caught on to _**our**_ plan?! Oh Primus! I knew I should have convinced Prime to let me accompany him to the surface!"

Hound promptly tuned Red Alert out as the spazz-tastic Security Director blathered on about security measures and how he hoped that Prowl was handling it like he'd been instructed to. He seemed firmly convinced that they were going to fail with this plan.

It was a bit hair-brained, Hound admitted, but he also couldn't fault Red for being so paranoid. The mech's sensors and scanners were hyper-sensitive and had burnt out a fair few times in the past. Because of his hyper-awareness, Red tended to see Decepticons everywhere. At least he was vigilant; they couldn't complain about that and they needed it for this mission.

They were about the launch the AllSpark from Cybertron.

Prime was going to send it to them from Tyger Pax through a space bridge. The space bridge here in the asteroid belt would then send the AllSpark to a random set of coordinates that were hopefully some place far, far away, where Megatron wouldn't be able to get his claws on it.

And through this, they could hopefully end the war at last.

"Red, circuits." Hound called, hearing a distinct crackling noise. "You're gonna need 'em later."

"My circuits are fine!" Red Alert snapped, pacing back and forth across the command deck of the _Artemis 1_. He was stopped abruptly when a white hand snaked out of nowhere, seizing the back of the Security Director's head. A blue visor glittered down critically.

"No, they're not." First Aid said, steering Red Alert towards the seat beside Hound. "You're beginning to overheat. I'd rather not have to put you into stasis-lock so you can cool down."

"But--"

"Sit down. We need you to be alert, not twitching on the floor."

For as kind as the Protectobot could be, he had still trained under Ratchet and it showed. Hound sniggered to himself, putting his feet against the console. Their real job wouldn't begin until the AllSpark was sent through to their location, so for the moment, they could sit back and wait without reprimand.

And while he was thinking about the space bridge...

"Hey Perceptor!" the scout called into the communications array on the console in front of him. "How are things going over there?"

"_Satisfactory, thank you._" Perceptor called back, the sound of keys clacking in the background. "_We're programming the coordinates for the space bridge now. The AllSpark will be delivered to a randomized point in space _**and**_ time, thanks to the transwarp programming we were able to get our hands on and integrate into the space bridge's main computer._"

He sounded terribly smug for a moment there.

"Are you sure it's fully functional?" Red Alert asked worriedly. "I'm here to ensure that no Decepticons sabotage our hard work. This mission **must** go through. If it fails, everything is lost!"

"_We are aware of how important this mission is, Red Alert._" Perceptor said patiently. "_I assure you, the space bridge will perform in the desired capacity. There is _**nothing **_to worry about._"

"Humor him, Percy." Hound advised, almost seeing the scientist's annoyed look at the nickname; Perceptor had never liked it. "You and Skyfire almost done though? Better get back before the AllSpark makes its appearance."

"_We will be back in a breem._" Perceptor replied and the comlink clicked out.

Despite the assurances, Red Alert still tapped his fingers impatiently on the edge of the console until footsteps announced the scientists' return. Hound swiveled in his chair automatically to greet Perceptor and Skyfire as they strolled onto the command deck. Perceptor returned the greeting as usual, but Skyfire turned and headed right for a console at the back of the deck with the barest glance in their direction. Hound just sighed. Nothing new there, then.

"Everything is secure, Red Alert." Perceptor told the Security Director before the mech could so much as open his mouth. "We'll be patching the space bridge controls into the _Artemis_'s main computer so we can activate it from here."

"Make sure they're tamper-proof!" Red Alert snapped. "We can't allow the Decepticons to have remote access to the controls!"

"You mustn't worry about that, Red Alert." Perceptor started soothingly. "Skyfire is quite good at this sort of thing. Makes me wonder why he chose to become a scientist rather than a programmer." he added in a lower voice.

In the back, Skyfire seemed to be trying to blend into the wall. Hound would bet his next glass of high-grade that not a word had escaped the silver jet's audials. The Valkyrie was a recluse to the most extreme degree; spending most of his time locked away in laboratories or his quarters and his presence routinely went unnoticed by many of the Autobots. Red Alert himself even forgot that Skyfire was there most of the time and he dedicated himself to knowing the status and location of every Autobot at all times. And Skyfire was somehow able to fly right under the radar. The Valkyrie usually never turned up in the rec room; he always seemed to hide behind datapads whenever another mech that wasn't Perceptor approached him; he didn't seem to handle praise too well; and just being around Prime made him clam up.

But Hound knew that while Skyfire seemed severely lacking in social skills, he must see and hear a lot more than any other mech, because he kept his vocalizer muted and his optics open. It was a good trait to have.

The green/gray scout turned back to the console, pulling his feet down and checking the readouts. They hadn't the faintest clue when the AllSpark would end up in the asteroid belt. Keeping one optic on the monitors was crucial. Prime had told them that they probably wouldn't have a very large window in which to send the AllSpark away. Two breems at the most, Prowl had calculated; if the ground team was successful at holding Megatron off.

"Work you piece of slag!"

The sudden shout was accompanied by much banging noise and everyone, already a bit twitchy, turned around quickly. It was only Skyfire, kicking at the paneling. He stopped very suddenly and his optics flickered towards them. Then he bent over and went right back to work.

"Do you have it?" Perceptor asked the Valkyrie.

"Patience... Can't rush this..." was the distracted mutter.

Hound wondered if it would be okay to laugh. Skyfire was a recluse, but not by nature. That much was clear.

"Done." the Valkyrie announced a few breems later.

"Just in time." First Aid spoke up, optics fixed to a monitor. "The space bridge on the other end just activated."

"Stations!" Red Alert barked out.

The Autobots jumped into a flurry of motion, hurrying to their stations, whether by the weapons' controls or the helm. As soon as the AllSpark passed through this space bridge, they had to destroy it to prevent any Decepticons from accessing the coordinates and following it. And then they had to get out of the asteroid belt and back to Cybertron.

"Heads up, Skyfire, here it comes!" Hound announced.

The five Autobots looked up out the forward view screen where an unusual gleam of light was beginning to appear. It stayed dim for less than a breem before star-bursting and something in the shape of a gigantic, rune-encrusted cube materialized.

"By Primus..." First Aid breathed in awe. "I've never seen it before..."

"It's beautiful." Hound murmured.

While the AllSpark was just a gigantic, rune-encrusted cube on the outside -- the shell Prime had had constructed around it to protect it from the void of space and Megatron's greedy claws -- it was also the very source of their existence. The heart of Cybertron, torn out to prevent the war from growing worse. It was a desperate maneuver and the only thing they could do short of destroying it.

"It's not alone!" Red Alert realized first, pointing to something silver and infinitesimally small compared to the AllSpark.

"That's an Olympic-- It's Megatron!" Skyfire shouted.

"Activate the space bridge!" Perceptor commanded in a panic.

Skyfire's fingers were already flying over the controls with amazing speed.

"Hound, bring us up there!" Red Alert ordered. "Maybe we can stop him!"

"Roger that!" the scout said, pulling back on the steering and propelling the massive battleship forward.

"Someone man the weapons!"

First Aid and Perceptor looked at each other, both reluctant to do so. After a quick, furious and mostly silent argument, Perceptor grudgingly slunk over to the weapons' controls.

The second space bridge activated with a brilliant glow of light, pulling the AllSpark towards it with a powerful gravitational suction and then safely through. The _Artemis_ bore down on the Decepticon lord, whom was hovering nearby in his alt-mode, thrusters activated to keep himself in place.

"Shoot! Shoot!" Red Alert commanded, practically bouncing out of his chair. "Get him!"

Perceptor brought the forward cannons around, targeting Megatron and praying to Primus that he wouldn't miss.

But he did.

Megatron had swerved to the side, his alt-mode far more maneuverable and able to dodge the blasts.

"_Is that the best you Autobots can do?!_"his deep voice shouted over the ship's communications array. "_I expected more of a fight! I don't know why, but I did!_"

"You're not gettin' out of this one, Megs!" Hound yelled.

"_Watch me!_"

First Aid reached over and turned the communications array off.

"Thank you, First Aid. Perceptor, rear cannons!" Red Alert shouted over his shoulders.

"Okay!" The scientist scanned the console before him, but he only recognized the controls for the forward cannons.

The ship passed the Decepticon lord by. Megatron transformed, no longer hampered by the gravitational suction.

"Perceptor, the rear cannons!"

"I can't find them!"

"Bringin' the ship around!" Hound said out loud.

"Too late." Skyfire said softly.

Megatron fired on the sublight engines.

Though the fusion cannon couldn't do too much damage to the ship as a whole, engines were always annoyingly fragile things; surrounded by delicate components that broke easily and were a pain in the aft to procure replacements for, and, lest one forget, fuel lines.

The _Artemis_ juddered to a halt, the sparks from the cannon blasts already working their way up the fuel lines, causing more explosions along the way. Megatron grinned to himself and unleashed a volley of shots on the transwarp drive engines; which were even _more_ fragile. Then he returned to his alt-mode and barreled headlong through the still-active space bridge and disappearing somewhere into space and time.

The situation aboard the _Artemis_ was beginning to degrade rapidly.

"We have no propulsion; the engines are dead all across the board!"

"Even the secondary engines?"

"I said 'all across the board'!"

"We're losing systems left and right! Auxiliary power is down!"

"Fire's broken out on the D and F decks! We've got about five breems before they reach the fuel tanks!" Hound pushed away from the console. "Red, we need to abandon ship. The _Artemis_ is just about done in."

Abandoning ship was the last thing Red Alert wanted to do, but their mission was, for the most part, accomplished and all that was left now was a matter of survival. As long as they got back to Cybertron...

"Get to the shuttle!" he commanded. "Don't try to save anything; we don't have the time!"

The Autobots scrambled off the command deck, hightailing it for the small launch bay. But Skyfire was a few steps along the corridor before he remembered that the space bridge was still active and he turned around, barely losing any momentum.

"Skyfire!" Perceptor squawked, noticing the Valkyrie's sudden absence instantly. "What are you doing?!"

"I have to shut down the space bridge!" Skyfire shouted over his shoulder. "Go on without me! I'll be fine!"

And then he disappeared through the door of the command deck. Knowing it was useless to argue, Perceptor turned and ran.

By some small miracle, the path to the launch bay was mercifully clear, the singular shuttle untouched by the tongues of flame that were licking at the walls and ceiling. Perceptor clambered aboard, closing the ramp behind him.

"Take off! Take off!" he shouted before he even reached the small command room.

"Perceptor?" First Aid questioned, turning as the scientist burst into the room.

"Take off!" Perceptor repeated.

"Where's Skyfire?" Hound asked, moving through the motions of starting the shuttle.

"He remained behind to shut down the space bridge!" the scientist replied. "He wants us to go ahead without him!"

"I'm not leaving anyone behind!" Red Alert snapped.

"Don't matter! He's a fraggin' flier! He can catch up!" Hound activated the forward thrusters. "Now hold on to something! This is gonna hurt!"

He gunned it. The shuttle shot backwards, right through the closed launch bay doors with the horrible screeching sound of tearing metal. The shuttle exited the doomed ship aft-first, throwing everyone except Hound against the bulkhead.

"Could you please drive more carefully?!" Perceptor requested from where he was pinned underneath Red Alert and First Aid.

"No time!" the scout said.

The small, unnamed shuttle wheeled away from the _Artemis_, which was undergoing a series of explosions. Fire was seen bursting through the hull; the flames dying quickly in the airless vacuum of space and leaving behind scorched holes in the metal.

First Aid fought to reach his comlink, a task that involved bending his arm awkwardly around Perceptor's knee and twisting his neck to point where he thought he would snap something.

"Skyfire? Skyfire, can you hear me?" the young medic asked, almost desperately.

Outside, the glow of the space bridge died.

A klik later, the faithful Autobot battleship that had served them through so many missions, the _Artemis 1_, went up in a majestic fireball that briefly lit up all the surrounding asteroids. The _Artemis 1_ had served its final mission, successfully completed. It would be remembered.

But it would have to be remembered later.

The shuttle was much too close to the exploding ship and the concussive force threw the shuttle away in a manner similar to a golfer taking the most perfect swing of his career. The small ship tumbled end over end in fast, dizzying circles, throwing its occupants for a literal loop. Red Alert wasn't a strong believer in dumb luck, but he landed at the helm, clung to it and was able to get the stabilizers working. After a moment, the shuttle finally settled into an upright position (as far as the artificial gravity was concerned) and the Security Director fell off the console, too dizzy to move further.

"Everyone... all good?..." First Aid asked, cradling his head as he waited for his gyros to stop spinning.

Hound made a ragged motion with one hand to affirm his state of 'good'-ness and Red Alert groaned softly.

"Yesss..." Perceptor hissed, trying his hardest to ignore the fact his fuel tank was threatening a purge.

"Good..." First Aid dragged himself into a sitting position and went for his comlink again. "Skyfire... Are you there?..."

He got a fizzle of static and then a hiss of dead air for his answer.

"Skyfire?" He tried again, a little more urgently.

"'S he not answerin'?" Hound asked, raising his head a little, looking worried.

"No." First Aid shook his head. "Skyfire! Respond!"

"Ooh..." Red Alert was pulling himself up. "Look at the _Artemis_..."

They did.

And wished they hadn't.

It was gone; just space trash now.

Bits of metal and machinery floated about among chunks of rock and clouds of dust. There was a blackened sparking mass that was barely recognizable as their old ship.

"Skyfire was still on that..." First Aid whispered in a horrified tone.

"The scanners-- They aren't picking anything up. No life forms." Red Alert said heavily, shaking his head. "I think he's gone..."

First Aid's hands shook and he cursed himself for being able to do nothing. He was a medic. Part of his programming was all about preserving life and he hated to lose anyone; especially the uninjured. Hound moved to place an arm comfortingly around the young medic's shoulders.

"He didn't need to do that." Perceptor said softly. "The explosion destroyed the space bridge anyways. He didn't need to stay behind." His hands tightened into fists. "I should have stopped him."

"I'm afraid--" Red Alert stopped, made a throat-clearing noise, and then went on. "Skyfire was-- a good soldier. Perhaps a good friend too, but I never knew him in that capacity. And the _Artemis 1_ was without a doubt the best ship in the fleet. We salute thee."

He brought his right hand to his forehead, posture straight-backed and proud; Hound, First Aid and Perceptor followed suit. They remained in these stiff, upright positions until too many rolling asteroids drifted across the scene and obscured their view. Then Red Alert dropped into the chair next to him.

"Contact Optimus Prime." he ordered, starting to bring the shuttle around to begin the long trip back to Cybertron. "Tell him what happened."

Perceptor moved over to the communication's array.

"_Artemis_ shuttle to Autobot base. Come in, Autobot base."

Nothing happened.

"Oh Primus, don't tell me..." the scientist groaned, slapping a hand over his optics.

"It's broken, isn't it?" First Aid moved to the array, already examine it.

"I imagine one of us fell on it." Perceptor mumbled, standing aside.

"Ah... I see the problem." First Aid banged the dent out of a panel and reattached a loosened wire. "There. Fixed."

Not that they really got the chance to use it.

Just as Perceptor reached to activate it again, the shuttle lurched a second time and once more, everyone was thrown off-balance. Perceptor literally hit the wall.

"Primus-fraggit, you gotta be kiddin' me!" Hound groaned, thoroughly annoyed. "Are those who I think they are?!"

"The triple-changers, yes!" Red Alert growled, trying hard to avoid the oncoming blasts.

"They followed Megatron through?" First Aid asked, sounding panicked. "Doesn't he ever go anywhere alone?!"

"Security detail! There is always security detail!" Red Alert yanked hard on the steering, bringing the shuttle into a sharp about-face that sent them sliding across the floor. As First Aid groped for a seat with the intention of strapping himself in, he saw -- frag, never mind, he didn't know their names -- one of the triple-changers -- whichever one was mostly white in color -- bank upwards sharply to avoid being splattered across the view screen.

Red Alert pointed the nose of the shuttle in the opposite direction of the white-ish triple-changer and gunned the engine. Hound was able to stop himself from skidding right into the front of the small ship by grabbing onto a chair and climbing in.

"How come they didn't follow him through the second space bridge?" Hound wondered. "If they were his escorts..."

"It must have not been part of their orders." Red Alert replied, yanking the shuttle left and right. Laser fire burst past them, either missing them or just skimming over the hull. "They must have been told to clean up any evidence of Megatron's passing."

"And that means us." Perceptor said, strapping himself into a seat as well. Finally, they were all done sliding about. "Please tell me this shuttle has transwarp capabilities!"

"No, just plain ol' warp capabilities!" Hound replied, sounding strangely gleeful, but that was probably just from the whole 'we're gonna die!' factor of the situation. Either way, the scientist stared at the scout as though he was some unidentified species that particularly vexed him.

"Find some coordinates and let us get out of here!" Red Alert snapped, jerking the shuttle yet again, this time heading up, according to their gyros.

"Keep it level, will ya?!" Hound's fingers flew over the keys.

"Don't take us to Cybertron! The space bridge has been compromised!" the Security Director went on. "I have no doubts that Prime knows that the AllSpark was pursued! We must wait for a transmission of further instructions!"

Hound rolled his optics, wiped the current coordinates, and entered new ones, hoping that they wouldn't come out in the middle of a sun or somewhere equally unpleasant. He probably wouldn't even live long enough to apologize.

With the coordinates in, Red Alert threw the lever.

* * *

As the Autobot shuttle disappeared into the wormhole, the triple-changers broke off their pursuit, transforming back to standard mode.

"_Almost had them! We almost had those slaggers!_" Octane shouted furiously, firing off a few shots to relieve his anger.

"_Don't waste your energy!_" Astrotrain snapped, wrenching Octane's hand around painfully. "_You'll need it later!_"

"_They got away!_" Bliztwing growled, arms crossed. He shot a glare at Astrotrain. "_Do we go after them?_"

"_No, we have our orders._" Astrotrain muttered, though he too wished he could hunt down the slagging Autobots. He was probably about as level-headed as a triple-changer could get and unfortunately for him, he was also the de facto leader. "_Let's go. Shockwave won't hold the space bridge open forever for us and I'd like to be around to watch Starscream screw up at playing leader._"

"_Yeah, that's always fun to watch._" Blitzwing conceded, his body folding back into his Polypheme jet-form.

"_More Auto-junks to slag up back home anyways._" Octane grunted, following suit.

Astrotrain returned to his flight-mode and the three of them blasted back to the still-open space bridge, vanishing through it and completely missing the silent form of a silver Valkyrie that tumbled away through space.

* * *

While the shuttle didn't come out in the middle of a sun, it did come out in middle of a sun's corona and Perceptor, having no desire to end his life as a lump of melted slag, made a point of jumping on Hound and beating him with his own fists. While the normally peaceful medic tried to pry the normally peaceful scientist off the normally peaceful scout, the spazz-tastic Security Director propelled the shuttle out of the corona before they all became lumps of melted slag.

"Well, that was-- eventful!" Perceptor said tightly, pulling himself straight once he was done beating up Hound. "And I for one, never wish for that to happen again!"

"I'm with you on that." Hound agreed from the floor.

"So... what happens now?" First Aid asked, looking at Red Alert. The Security Director was the highest-ranked officer right now and if he told them to jump off a cliff, then they had to do it.

A hiss of air escaped Red Alert's vents.

"We're quite a distance of Cybertron; too far out to be assured that any communiqués will reach in time, or even find our way back with time to spare. The safety of the AllSpark has been compromised, so if Prime follows the standard security measures -- which he should! -- he will send out a retrieval team to find the AllSpark before Megatron can." He swiveled the chair around to face them. "Consider this situation a communications black-out. We take no offensive action until we receive confirmation from home-base. Is that clear?"

All three nodded.

"And for now, we wait."

* * *

But for how long they waited was another story entirely.

In their absence, Starscream took command of the Decepticons (as he was wont to do) and purged Cybertron of the presence of Autobots and Neutrals alike. Transports fled from Cybertron into the deep of unfamiliar space. Most were never heard from again.

Many Autobots were listed as dead or missing and without a word coming from those who were MIA, the army mourned their loss for as long as they could and then had to carry on without them.

In the time the remaining crew of the _Artemis 1_ waited, drifting through space with no destination in mind except to refuel regularly, the AllSpark was found on an unknown planet called "Earth" and destroyed by a native; Megatron went down and came back a few weeks later and fled the planet shortly after his reawakening; and the Seekers defected to the Autobot side due to extenuating circumstances.

And in other corners of the vast cosmos, gears began to turn.


	21. Chpt20: Nothing More

**A/N:** Heh, I apologize for my absence last Friday, but I was feeling rather angry and bitter at the world in general at that time. I decided it would be kinder of me to not inflict my sour mood upon you kind people. I'm feeling much better this time.

So this chapter brings us to the Decepticons and catches up to about where the first arc left off, for the most part. I'm particularly proud of the middle part of this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names I cannot remember.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty: Nothing More

* * *

Megatron's return to his flagship, the _Nemesis_, was something less than triumphant.

He'd initially envisioned himself returning in a blaze of glory, with the head of Optimus Prime in one hand and the AllSpark in the other, a great cheer rising up from his followers and they shouted his name to the heavens in pure, undiluted victory.

Instead, he returned looking halfway to the scrap yard -- he reminded himself to give Starscream a royal aft-whipping if he ever saw the Seeker again -- dropping three slagged-up triple-changers to the floor -- all of whom cursed the rough treatment -- Barricade and Soundwave staggering along behind him with their arms outstretched to feel their way down the corridor and in front of him were five dead-silent and incredibly pissed off Constructicons.

Why was tha-- Oh wait. Yes, they probably already knew that Bonecrusher had fallen.

Not that he'd had any real intention of telling them that. But gestalt teams were jerks like that.

Scrapper put aside the blueprints he'd been poring over and rose to his feet. His strides were swift and smooth and he was standing in front of the Decepticon lord in a few kliks.

"Hail Lord Megatron." he said in greeting, making a stiff fist over his chassis. Megatron returned the gesture and totally missing Soundwave's attempts to get his attention, strode onto the command deck. Filling the view screen was an image of a dusty golden moon and its massive blue-green planet counterpart that looked too much like Earth for Megatron's liking. But it was where the _Nemesis_ was parked in geo-stationary orbit.

"Fix that lot up!" he ordered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the pile of triple-changers. "I want them out of here in three orns!"

"No."

The refusal rang like a brass bell on the suddenly silent command deck. Megatron turned the word over and over in his head until it lost meaning and then he turned to face the Constructicon commander. Despite their optics being fried, Soundwave and Barricade decided that it would be better to slink out of sight for a while and they disappeared back into the dimness of the corridor. The triple-changers quickly feigned unconsciousness (though it wasn't that hard for them to fake it).

"What did you say?" Megatron asked slowly. _No one says 'no' to Megatron!_

Scrapper crossed his arms defiantly.

"I said 'no'." he repeated, emboldened by the fact his gestalt-mates were in the same mindset. "We will not repair the triple-changers until you answer a few questions."

Megatron growled his displeasure. Didn't this fool understand that he was in a bit of a rush here?! Every second the Autobots had to repair themselves was a second the Decepticons lost! And they were already well behind as it was!

But Scrapper was standing with a very defiant set in his stance. It looked that if Megatron wanted the triple-changers back in the field, he was going to have to comply. It didn't make him happy, however. He was still burning from the fact he'd been forced to retreat -- from his own Seekers at that!

"What would you like to know?" the Decepticon lord asked through gritted dental plating.

"Where is Bonecrusher?" Scrapper asked.

"Terminated." Megatron answered shortly. "Next question?"

The tension and raw anger on the deck tripled in intensity.

"Why did you let it happen? Why was Bonecrusher terminated?" Scrapper asked, voice now tight with barely restrained rage. He didn't like having his worst fear of being a broken gestalt confirmed. It was like part of his spark had been extinguished. The five of them had known exactly when Bonecrusher had been permanently off-lined and it had not been a pleasant feeling to endure.

"The fault was his own!" Megatron spat angrily. "He was foolish enough to attempt to take on Prime by himself!"

"And where were you when it happened?!" Hook was on his feet, visor gleaming dangerously in the light. "As supreme commander of the Decepticons, it is your job to ensure that as few lives as possible are lost to battle! You were not doing your job!"

"Why was Prime able to defeat Bonecrusher in the first place?!" Scrapper snapped, nearly frothing in his anger. "Why were you not able to crush the Autobots and take the AllSpark?! Why have the Decepticons retreated in defeat _**again**_?!"

"I thought we were supposed to be a mighty army; victorious in every aspect." Hook put in, arms crossed. "All this running and hiding proves that you are nothing more than a coward."

_Coward?_ Megatron felt an optic twitch spasmodically. _So they think I am a coward, do they?!_

"SILENCE!!" the Decepticon lord shrieked, firing on Hook. The Constructicon dodged, the fusion blast skimming over his forearm and impacting with the far wall. The remaining Constructicons rose to their feet, ready to move if the need came.

"It is not your place to question me!" Megatron went on, livid with anger. "**I** am the leader of the Decepticons! I am your supreme commander and my word stands! Bonecrusher was a fool! And Starscream was an even bigger fool! He delayed me with his stupidity! Had I been able to arrive sooner, I assure you that we the Decepticons would have been victorious! The Autobots would have been crushed! The AllSpark would have been in my hands! We would be ruling the universe! But due to one lousy Seeker, I was delayed!"

His fist came down, utterly destroying a console. Despite themselves, the Constructicons jumped. Scavenger was the first to step back.

"Starscream..." the Decepticon lord growled. "Is the reason for this failure. He is weak and useless now, if not dead."

Megatron drew himself up to his full and imposing height, regaining his composure. Any traces of anger were wiped from his features. He strode over to another console, the communications array, and flicked it on. Immediately, a signal began to broadcast on all Decepticon frequencies all across the galaxy.

"Attention fellow Decepticons! This is Lord Megatron speaking! Seekers Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp are now traitors to the Decepticon cause." he announced. "I issue this order to all Decepticons! If those traitors are seen, _shoot to kill_!"

Then he cut the broadcast.

"Isn't that a little extreme?" Scrapper questioned, almost curiously.

**Phwoom!**

Another fusion blast was fired. The Constructicon narrowly dodged it, feeling the heat of it rather keenly. That was the second time Megatron had turned that monstrosity of a cannon on them!

"We are Decepticons. We are not merciful. We do not take prisoners." Megatron said calmly, but there was a fire burning underneath. "You would do well to remember that."

With that, the Decepticon lord turned and left the command deck, stepping over the triple-changers on his way out.

"And fix those slaggers up!"

The tension did not leave entirely with the leader, but it was enough to allow the Constructicons to relax. Scrapper exchanged a look with his fellow Constructicons; a long heavy look that spoke volumes. It would be best, they all decided silently among themselves, if they kept their thoughts to themselves for now.

Two corridors away from the command deck, Barricade listened carefully as Megatron stomped by, cursing loudly and clanking with every step. When the noise of the Decepticon lord's passing had faded, Barricade stepped away from the mouth of the corridor and turned his head. He had partial vision back in his right optic -- it had come back during the long trek back to the _Nemesis_ -- and he focused it now on Soundwave. The Communications Officer was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chassis, his cassettes tucked away safely in his chest compartment.

"So what do you make of that?" the Science Officer inquired gruffly.

"Uncertain." Soundwave intoned.

"He didn't sound very -- sane." Barricade observed. "Not to me."

"Megatron's thoughts: chaotic." Soundwave said, sounding somehow thoughtful.

"Hah!" Barricade barked out a harsh laugh. "I think he's losing it. All that AllSpark power must have gone to his head. And I mean, literally, gone to his head."

"His electrical impulses are in disarray." Soundwave informed him. "His mind is a storm."

"So, he's gone mad?" Barricade raised a brow-ridge. Hmm, it seemed that the proceedings were getting interesting for the first time.

"Negative."

And his thoughts were dashed.

"He is beginning to go mad."

The transformed Saleen looked back up with his one working optic. He didn't know Soundwave's telepathy worked, but he knew that it rarely, if ever, failed. When it came to matters of the mind, Soundwave always spoke the truth.

And that meant Megatron was well and truly going mad.

That wasn't good.

Megatron had always treaded a fine line between sanity and madness, somehow keeping the delicate balance as he led them through victory after victory. He lost his temper from time to time, yes, but that was just to be expected. He was precise and swift with his strategies, reducing the Autobots to a retreat almost every time. The Decepticons had won more battles than they had lost. And it was due to Megatron's ability to organize battle plans that held maximum impact. It wasn't that big an advantage over the Autobots -- the Autobots seemed to work better in small strike forces that big-ass battle plans didn't have much effect against -- but they still had it.

But if Megatron was losing his grip on his sanity, then they were going to lose that small advantage.

And the Autobots could overwhelm them.

What to do?...

Barricade had toyed with the idea of leaving the Decepticon army many times. He hated the mechs he had to work with, but then again, he hated the Autobots even more. Being able to fight them was probably the only incentive he had to stay on Megatron's side and winning those fights was just an added bonus.

But if Megatron was losing his grip on his sanity...

Staying here might not be safe.

He was going to have to make a decision here.

His life style or his life.

In the end, it turned out to be a remarkably easy decision to make.

* * *

_Coward! Coward! Nothing more than a coward!_

The words rang in his head, taunting him with every step.

He was not a coward!

Megatron threw a fist at the wall, his knuckles punching clean through the metal.

He had not retreated with his tailpipe between his legs! He had withdrawn from the battlefield because it had been the best thing to do! He had been outnumbered and outgunned! He had known when it was time to give up!

But only for the moment.

"I will be back, Optimus Prime." Megatron growled to the empty corridor. "I will be back and I will crush your pathetic Autobots one by one, right in front of you! You will watch them suffer and die and then I will kill you. Slowly; piece by piece."

_But how will you overpower them?_ Questioned a voice. _Your soldiers are few and injured. The Constructicons are displeased with your leadership._

"I shall remind them who the leader of the Decepticons is. Their lord and sovereign. Ruler of the universe. They will learn their places again. A show of power will be enough to cow them."

_But do you have __**enough**__ power? You were beaten._

"By five pathetic Autobots." he spat.

_And three of your own. Did you forget? You've lost the Seekers. Irretrievably, at that._

"No I haven't!" Megatron roared, slamming both fists at the wall. It buckled under the impact. "I have not lost the Seekers! When they find out about their death sentence, they will come running to me to lift it. They will beg on their knees for my forgiveness. They will be sorry for thinking that they could run away from me. They will be very sorry. I will see to that."

_But the Autobots are still an issue._

"Yes indeed they are." Megatron mused, continuing his trek down the hall. "Prime has the Matrix of Leadership and a mere fragment of the AllSpark. But I have more than just a fragment."

He closed a fist, still feeling the AllSpark's power burning through his circuits. It was power that begged to be used. He wanted to use it. He **had** to.

But that doubtful little voice wasn't done yet.

_So you do, but is it enough?_

He paused. The AllSpark was quite powerful. But it worked with the power of creation. It did not deal in death.

"The AllSpark is power enough." he said with a sigh.

_The AllSpark is only the tool through which Primus works. The Matrix of Leadership is the essence of Primus himself, or so the stories say. In the long run, which would be more powerful?_

The Matrix. But he had already gone after it once and it had gotten him nowhere fast. The only things he had accomplished was throwing Cybertron clear off its orbit and sending the war into the deep of space. Only an utter fool would even think about attempting to claim the Matrix of Leadership a second time.

_You have seen the power it wields. Imagine that combined with the AllSpark._

Megatron did. He remembered the power the Matrix had. He remembered it flowing into his body, changing his form into what he was now. That power had been intoxicating, a heady rush that had left him dizzy and giddy. It had been a most wonderful feeling. The idea of it being combined with the power of the AllSpark was too mind-blowing to imagine.

_And it could be yours, you know._ The little voice said. _All you have to do is take it again._

His fingers flexed with the memory of the first time he had laid his hands on the Matrix of Leadership. He had torn it straight from his brother's chest, watching the internal fluids flow from the broken chest cavity. Watching Prime twitch and die-- well, nearly die anyways -- had given him such a rush of power that it had left him feeling... He couldn't describe it. The mere idea that he had held life in his hands and had chosen to terminate it...

_Do you want to feel it again?_

The power of life and death...

In his hands.

He was infused with the instrument of a god.

His hand flashed out, claws digging into the wall and tearing off a large section like it was paper. The metal crumbled under his fingers like rust until all that was left was a gray powder, dusting the floor at his feet.

Megatron laughed, full of triumph and malice. He already had so much power flowing through him. But imagine what he could do with more... More power. Enough power to overthrow the Autobots for good. To crush them into nothingness.

He could still see himself, the vision the AllSpark had shown him those many vorns ago, standing at the head on the universe, victorious over everything. All bowed at his feet, hailing him as a god.

The vision shown bright; brighter than any light, in his mind's eye.

_This is your destiny._

* * *

No idea what their next destination was, no idea what was waiting out there in the cosmos for them, no contact from Prime, no way **to** contact Prime or even get any sort of fix on his location, and Hound was _recharging at the helm_. Auto-pilot or not, that was just irresponsible.

As a security officer, Red Alert had to be prepared for all sorts of things that the universe decided to throw at them and he was used to countering the unknown. But in this situation, there were far too many unknowns. Space was wide and vast and the strangest things were known to happen. For all he knew, they could have had Decepticons following them all this time, but they wouldn't have known because this shuttle had terrible scanners. Or because Hound wasn't paying any attention to the controls. No, he was sacked out in the chair, slumped low, arms crossed and heels sitting on a bare part of a console. He was recharging like a sparkling.

Irresponsible.

Red Alert had irresponsible team-mates. He was sure of it.

Perceptor was too preoccupied with working out the schematics for some experiment he wanted to try as soon as the facilities became available to him. Red Alert had thought the blueprints looked like a bomb, but it had taken a supreme force of will to not confiscate the plans. Firstly, there was no real place to hide the blueprints and secondly, he would have to endure a lecture from the scientist about why the item was not a danger and he would sooner fry his circuits by himself than let the lecture do it for him. Perceptor had been prone to falling into foul moods ever since the _Artemis_'s (and Skyfire's) untimely destruction. It was obvious that he was still hurting over the loss of the Valkyrie.

Since his skills as a medic had not been needed for a while now, the only thing First Aid could do was make sure the shuttle stayed in working order. To Red, this looked very much like sabotage and he already chased the young medic away from the undersides of consoles several times before First Aid was able to explain exactly what he was doing. Red was starting to think that the medic was getting bored and boredom led to unholy things. Especially since First Aid had trained under Ratchet, there was no saying _what_ the Protectobot was actually capable of.

Hound, it seemed, was trying to actively kill them. He had taken them through every asteroid field he could find and flew the shuttle too close to white-hot stars, laughing something about excitement on this snooze cruise. The Security Director kept a close, sharp optic on his team-mates, ready to jump them at the first sign of treason. They were all trying to kill him. They were stuck on a small shuttle and tempers had been running thin lately. Oh, he would be keeping a very close optic on all of them.

It was Red Alert's worst nightmare come true.

The Security Director leaned over the recharging scout to check the instruments. There was a small light flashing by the communications array; the antenna was picking up a distress signal. Red Alert traced the origin of the signal and scanned it for any hidden surprises. But it was just a simple distress signal coming on Autobot frequencies. Nothing special.

That didn't mean he wasn't suspicious.

It would be a fine thing; to have made it this far, mostly incident-free, only to be taken down by lurking Decepticons who were mimicking an Autobot distress signal. No, they couldn't have that. It wouldn't do. Not at all.

"Hound." He poked the scout. "Hound!"

He 'poked' a lot harder the second time, causing the recharging mech to tumble out of the chair to the floor and wake up with a grunt.

"What're doin' Red?..." Hound asked groggily, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"**You** were recharging on the job." Red Alert jabbed a finger in his face. "There's a distress signal coming in, but you didn't notice because you were too busy recharging."

"C'mon Red, we've all been pullin' double shifts." Hound argued, climbing to his feet and ignoring the accusing tone. "So what frequency is the distress signal on?"

"Autobot, but that could mean anything." Red Alert said, pulling the ship off auto-pilot and switching over to manual. "It could be Decepticons, mimicking our frequency."

"Yeah... maybe..." Hound rubbed at the back of his head. "'Cept for the fact that our distress signals are pure gibberish to Decepticons and the frequency is always scrambled when they try and find it. Wasn't that somethin' **you** threw together?"

Yes, it was. Not that the Security Director was going to admit that he had forgotten all about the frequency scrambler he had put together. Every Autobot had had one installed and the number of Decepticons catching them while they were down had decreased dramatically. If the Decepticons weren't able to figure the frequency, they usually weren't able to find the Autobot putting it out.

"It never hurts to be cautious." Red Alert said swiftly to cover up his momentary lapse of memory. "After all, it could be-- It could be Decepticons holding an Autobot hostage and forcing him to put out the distress signal!"

Now **that** was a possibility too.

Hound eyed his (for the time being) commanding officer. He usually didn't mind a slow pace to things, but recently, he'd been dying for a change in that pace. This distress signal was probably the most interesting thing that had happened so far and he really hoped that Red Alert didn't pass it up because he was too paranoid. Besides, if it was coming on Autobot frequencies, then they were a bit obligated to at least look into it.

"I'll go get the other two." the scout said, leaving to dig First Aid and Perceptor up from the depths of the shuttle.

Red Alert angled the antenna around until he found in which direction the signal was the strongest and headed off. It didn't take long for the form of a large ship come into view; silhouetted against the glow of a massive blue-green-white that easily dwarfed the ship in size. The general outline of ship gave away its function.

"You three! Get up here right now!" he snapped into his comm.

"Cybertronian transport vessel. I'm certain of it." Perceptor said once they were gathered on the command deck.

"Deep-space transport." Hound realized. "Looks recent. Must have been leaving Cybertron. But why?"

"It's been attacked." First Aid said, being the first to spot the ship-length rip in the hull as the shuttle came around. "Battle scars."

"The docking attachments seem to be functional still." Red Alert said, scanning the transport. "It's unmarked; no faction insignias. That still doesn't make me feel better about this." he added in a deadpan.

"Chill Red. Anyone onboard still?" Hound asked.

"The scanners are picking up life-readings; one, maybe two." the Security Director replied.

"We should have a look, then." First Aid said, the tone of his voice daring Red Alert to argue.

Red Alert contemplated the situation for a moment. Picking up any comrades would reduce any evident security risks, but it would also increase the possibility of breaches because there were more mechs aboard the shuttle. However, picking up any comrades meant that they would stand a better chance at making it through in once piece. Through "what" had been the question of the last few months. Red Alert had figured that they were all just trying to reach Prime in whatever corner of space he was holed up in.

On the other hand, First Aid had been eyeing the engines lately in a way that Red Alert really wasn't liking...

"Keep your optics open." the Security Director said, maneuvering the shuttle to dock with the broken-down transport.

Once the shuttle had safely docked through the wonders of magnetic clamps, the four-mech team made their way to the broken transport. The lack of artificial gravity become apparent once they stepped-- er, rather _floated_ in. Chunks of blackened debris drifted about. More disturbing were the scorched body parts that hovered around, drifting a few inches at a time. Even more disturbing where the globules of darkened blue energon that rolled around near the severed body parts.

"Definitely 'Cons." Hound observed softly. "Watch out for the energon."

"There was no reason to advise that." Perceptor said, lightly tapping a severed arm out of his way.

"Never mind it; I've got a lock on the readings." First Aid announced. "It's down that way." He pointed straight down the length of the ship, all the way to the other side.

They all looked down into the darkened interior of the ship.

"Shall we--" Perceptor tapped his fingers together uncertainly. "Perhaps two of us should stay here and guard the shuttle--"

"No." Red Alert interrupted firmly. "We will not be splitting up. There is safety in numbers. We stay together."

Hound, Perceptor and First Aid exchanged glances and shrugged. It was better to humor the Security Director than cause his circuits to explode. And he was right. There was safety in numbers.

They used the cracked ceiling to propel themselves forward, across the long expanse of the transport ship. The Autobots had floated clear across to the other side of the ship before those life-readings got any stronger. The source was a blue and white mech, mostly unharmed save for some black marks and dings peppering his chassis and limbs and a rather nasty dent decorating the back of his helm. One arm was snagged in a twisted section of metal still attached to the hull and that had prevented him from floating off. To top it off, the mech looked very familiar.

Actually, it was Mirage.

All four mechs darted forward, digging their feet into the floor to stop their momentum (thank Primus for friction) and kneeled as much as zero-G would allow. First Aid ran all the scanners he had available over Mirage and a moment later, gave his prognosis.

"Not badly injured; not leaking energon anywhere, left arm's a little mangled, though. He's in stasis-lock." First Aid announced, his comrades visibly relaxing at the good news. "I can bring him out of it right now, if you want."

"Yes." Red Alert said. "We need to confirm that he really is Mirage."

It took monumental willpower to prevent the other three from huffing out a sigh. First Aid reached under Mirage's neck as Hound and Perceptor laid restraining hands on the spy's shoulders. Mechs were known to come out of stasis-lock fighting, especially if they had gone under fighting.

With a swift twist of his fingers, the young medic brought the spy out of stasis-lock.

There turned out to be no need to restrain him. Mirage was slow to come around, shaking his head slowly, optical shutters creaking open slowly. His optics were out of focus and he seemed to be having trouble focusing them.

Red Alert crossed his arms and squared his shoulders, trying to look as imposing as possible while floating at a 70 degree angle.

"Autobot. State your designation and primary function."

The authoritative tone only made Mirage blink. His CPU was still trying to catch up with the change of state, trying to process why it felt like he was floating. The blurry blobs over his head weren't helping matters.

"Red?..." he questioned groggily, trying to make sense of the red and white blob hovering over him. It **sounded** like Red Alert, but ooh, his head hurt. "Is that-- Ow!"

First Aid was already probing lightly at the dent on Mirage's head. The pain served to wake up the spy's mind a little more.

"Sorry." the young medic apologized, but did not retract his fingers.

"Primus... Who's that?..." Mirage asked, moving to bat the medic's hands away.

"It's First Aid, and you hold still." the Protectobot instructed sharply. "You've taken a bad hit to the back of the head and I do believe that it's effecting the performance of your optics. If you can hold still for just two breems, I'll have you back up to par in no time."

"You sound more like Ratchet..." Mirage groaned, wincing but letting the medic do his job.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any painkillers and I imagine you would prefer to not return to stasis-lock so soon." First Aid apologized.

"Not that it would matter." Mirage muttered, shuttering his optics. "I died, didn't I..."

"Where the frag didja get an idea like that, Raj?" Hound asked curiously.

"Yes, where indeed? We seem to be quite alive." Perceptor said, looking down at himself as to make sure that he hadn't missed anything unusual.

"You guys are dead." Mirage informed them, causing First Aid's fingers to slip a fraction. "Therefore, I must be dead as well if I'm talking to you."

The full meaning of the words sank in.

"Oh dear... We're classified as K.I.A." Perceptor said, a hand moving over his mouth.

"Because contact with the _Artemis_ was lost." Red Alert finished. He scowled. "I knew we've been traveling in radio silence for too long."

"Oh, give it a rest. It was your idea anyways. Done." First Aid withdrew his fingers and the spy blinked, the blurry blobs coming into sharp focus. And he realized that maybe he wasn't so dead after all.

Red Alert leaned down lower, getting right into Mirage's face. Mirage drew back despite himself. No one liked having their personal space invaded.

"You still haven't stated your designation and primary function." the Security Director said.

The former aristocrat sighed heavily, ignoring Hound's chuckling. He was going to have to answer that question if he wanted Red Alert to stop giving him a look of extreme mistrust.

"Designation: Mirage. Primary function: spy. Secondary function: sniper. Security pass-code: 6834-MISA-79. Happy now?"

"Yes. Let's get back to the shuttle." Red Alert said, happy now.

If transitioning from gravity to zero-G was jarring, going back was even more jarring. One second you were weightless, the next second, gravity was dragging you to the floor. It tended to destabilize gyros and make one dizzy for a few minutes.

The _Artemis_'s shuttle was detached from the lifeless transport ship and began a slow circuit around the planet.

"Here's the situation as we know it." Red Alert started once Mirage had been seated, his damaged arm trapped in First Aid's clutches, and supplied with some energon. The shuttle had fully working facilities for energon. "The AllSpark was sent through the second space bridge, but Megatron followed it through. Before pursuing it, however, he destroyed the _Artemis 1_ and we lost Skyfire."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"The triple-changers followed Megatron through the first space bridge, but we gathered that their orders were to clean up evidence of his passing as they did not follow him through the second bridge. We were able to get away, but we were not able to establish contact with the base on Cybertron. Since then, we've been treating the situation as though it were a communications black-out. It has been a little over a vorn since the AllSpark was launched and we have heard nothing."

Mirage took a thoughtful sip of energon as he digested the information.

"Well..." he started. "After the launch of the AllSpark and Megatron's disappearance, Starscream took command as fast as expected. He was quiet for an orn or two and the next thing we knew, he was systematically purging Cybertron of any Autobot and Neutral presence with the Sweeps. Most of us fled on the transports."

"There weren't many who checked in after the AllSpark-launch; only a handful of us. The rest as classified as either M.I.A. or dead. You four are on the K.I.A. list. We don't even know if the mission was successful."

The silence that fell next was a heavy one.

"What about Prime?" Hound asked, briefly taking his optics away from the controls. "Anything from him before you left Cybertron?"

Mirage shook his head. "Only to wait for further transmissions. He left with a small team to pursue the AllSpark and keep it out of Decepticon hands. I would say that we haven't heard anything from him since, as I don't have any messages waiting. But then again, I've been in stasis-lock for the last vorn so I can't say for certain."

Red Alert stood up suddenly and started to pace the small command deck.

"This is... This is..." He didn't even have the words for the situation. It was bad, of course, but other than that, Red Alert didn't know how to classify it. This was way more serious than to just be called a communications black-out. It was covered in caution tape and mauve warning stickers. They were going to have to go about this a lot more carefully than originally thought.

"Uh... Heheh... Red?" Hound looked over his shoulder, his expression more than just a little terrified. "I think we just walked into deeper slag."

They all shot forward, staring alternately at the sensors and the view screen. But even after they comprehended what they were seeing, they didn't want to believe it.

Against the dusty-gold moon was the familiar and much loathed shape of the Decepticon flagship, the _Nemesis_.


	22. Chpt21: Looking on the Other Side

**A/N: **Warning: This chapter here contains what you would probably call "bad science". In essence, I'm saying crap that (with any luck) sounds smart. Science was never my strong point and we're dealing with an alien species here. Half the stuff doesn't even work the same.

With next Friday being Halloween (at least here in the States), I'll be shifting gears rather dramatically. There will **not** -- I repeat, there will **NOT** be an update of anything _Transformers_. Instead, I will be starting a new story in a different category. _Teen Titans_. As I write this author's note, my new Teen Titans story has been complete for just a little under half an hour. It's the first story I've ever written in under a month. I just ask that you have a look at it if you like _Teen Titans_.

The scene break lines don't seem to be working well...

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers _is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

'**Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-One: A Look on the Other Side

* * *

Even in vorns to come, Barricade wasn't sure if he would ever understand what exactly had come over him in one particular moment.

It was treason, plain and simple. And everyone knew very well what happened to the traitors. Starscream had been the example; scrapped up so many times for treacherous leanings that the medics probably knew his insides better than his own creators did. Barricade had always told himself that wouldn't ever let himself be on that side of Megatron, no matter how much he hated or disagreed with the great Slag-Maker. Megatron was known by many as the 'great Slag-Maker' for a _reason_.

And yet, here he was; Barricade the Science Officer who only scrapped Autobots because he hated them more than he hated the Decepticons; playing the role of a traitor. A role he had never once expected to find himself in.

At the moment, it didn't feel very treacherous. Then again, neither of them had made any bold moves against Megatron yet. Soundwave must have been wary, the Saleen concluded, of doing anything right under Megatron's nose like this. The Communications Officer had never openly defied the Decepticon lord before. In reality, very few had. Starscream might have been the only one among the lot of them to have the gears to do it.

It had been a few orns since their arrival on the _Nemesis_ -- probably not as long as he thought, though, Barricade was still working on Earth-time -- and Soundwave was doing a bang-up job of avoiding Megatron while being subtle about it. Half of it, Barricade suspected, was the cassetticons deliberately causing trouble amongst themselves in order to draw Soundwave away. Most likely instigated by Frenzy and Rumble, if he was anything like his twin.

The Constructicons were ignoring Megatron just on general principles. They were hurting over the loss of Bonecrusher and would be for some time yet; Barricade could almost smell the beginnings of a grudge. It **was** part of Megatron's job to keep casualties to a minimum and gestalt teams in general were clingy buggers. Their team-mates were the only mechs they were truly loyal to. At least on the Decepticons' side of things. It was most likely different with the Autobots. Barricade wasn't terribly interested in finding out.

Regardless, the Constructicons were going to be very unhappy with Megatron for a long time to come.

And speaking of the Decepticon lord, Barricade hadn't seen a whole lot of him lately. Not that he was complaining. Ever since Soundwave had made that announcement about Megatron possibly losing his mind, the Saleen had found himself warily eyeing the great silver mech if he happened to be around, trying to discern any changes in behavior; anything that was different than what he was used to seeing.

And there were some differences.

While it was normal for Megatron to be strolling around like a loaded gun, it wasn't normal for him to be storming around like a loaded gun with a madman's finger on the trigger. Sometimes, if Barricade listened close enough, he could hear maniacal cackling echoing faintly down the stark metal corridors.

He made it a point not to listen too closely.

Here Barricade stood now, guarding the door of the _Nemesis_'s communications hub and trying to look inconspicuous while doing so; like he was just loitering. Soundwave was busy sending a transmission to this group of mechs that were about the same distance away from Earth that they were. The Saleen wasn't entirely sure how he had let himself get into this. Maybe he felt like owed Soundwave something in return for being allowed to borrow Frenzy for the AllSpark mission. When he really gave it some thought, Soundwave was probably the sanest mech aboard right now. However... He had been responsible for creating Frenzy after all, so Barricade could be mistaken.

"Transmission complete." Soundwave intoned from right behind him, but Barricade was getting used to Soundwave appearing out of nowhere from behind. He stood aside to let the Communications Officer out.

"That didn't take long." Barricade commented with a snort, watching the mech pass him. "Who were you talking to?"

"Information: classified." Soundwave replied, striding away. "My contact has agreed to the terms. That is all you need to know."

"What terms?" Barricade demanded, practically leaping to catch up. Soundwave didn't answer. "C'mon slagger, I'm in this with you whether either of us like it or not. I want to know what I'm getting in to."

Soundwave stopped so suddenly that Barricade rammed into his backside. The Communications Officer turned around before the transformed Saleen could recover.

"Surveillance." he answered shortly.

Barricade raised a browridge. "Of?"

Soundwave actually took a careful look around before responding.

"Megatron."

Barricade's train of thought crashed. Hard. Soundwave was Starscream's polar opposite. The blue mech was as loyal as they came; always right there to give Megatron a hand. But to have him suddenly paranoid and maybe even fearful of the Decepticon lord to the point where he wanted to keep an optic on him... Megatron must be more screwed up in the head than previously thought.

"Who did you contact?" Barricade asked, suspicious and at the same time, very curious. He wanted to know just who Soundwave would turn to if he ever considered Megatron to be a danger to Cybertronians as a whole.

"Information: classified." Soundwave repeated, his monotonous voice carrying more force than ever. He was so close that Barricade could see the outline of the blue mech's optics underneath the visor. Instinctively, he knew that he shouldn't ask again.

"In the brig: one Autobot prisoner." The subject was changed abruptly, but not surprisingly. "Deliver the daily allotment of energon. That is an order."

And then Soundwave walked away. Barricade nearly made a face at the blue mech's retreating backside, complete with his tongue sticking out, before he remembered that that was a childish and very _human_ thing to do. Instead, he settled for a glare that could blister paint.

"Yeah... I'll take yer damn energon to yer damn prisoner..." he groused in a low voice, turning to make his way to the brig. "'We don't take prisoners'. Megatron, you can be a downright hypocritical bastard at times..."

"Perhaps you would care to repeat that statement, Barricade?" asked a soft and familiar voice that caused the Saleen to freeze up.

Megatron himself was standing at the corridor junction just ahead of him, his arms loosely crossed and his back to the wall.

"Lord Megatron!" Barricade swiftly saluted. If one had any sense of self-preservation, a respectful salute was a must.

The Decepticon lord strode forward, a slow lazy walk, until he was standing right over Barricade. The heat generated from his massive body rolled over the smaller Decepticon and the Saleen did his best not to choke on it. It was so strong and cloying. It wasn't natural.

"I certainly hope that you are not entertaining any traitorous thoughts, Barricade." Megatron said with a faint smile. "It would be a shame to lose one of my more _loyal_ soldiers. You remember what happened to Starscream, don't you?"

"Yes I do, sir." Barricade said, staring determinedly at Megatron's chin. He dare not look the silver mech in the optic.

"And I give you the opportunity to destroy Autobots, do I not?"

"Indeed you do, sir."

"So, if I happen to discover that you are thinking treasonous thoughts, plotting to overthrow me; I will not hesitate to snap you in two." Megatron hissed. His fingers cracked together loudly.

To his credit, Barricade was able to suppress the urge to flinch. Inside, the part of him that desired to live another day quailed at the notion of being found out. He already felt that he was in too deep to back out now.

"Yessir." the Saleen muttered, keeping his optics fixed on Megatron's chin. The Decepticon lord's lips quirked in something resembling a smirk and then he walked away to hover over someone else's shoulder and send cold shivers down their spinal column.

Barricade slowly let himself relax. He decided to head to the brig before anyone else happened across him here in the corridor. It would be a good distraction; taunting an Autobot. It felt like it had been ages since he had last been able to do that.

In keeping with the "gloom and despair" atmosphere the Decepticons were good at cultivating, the brig remained dimly lit. Light gave the captives a sense of hope and the Decepticons were all about squashing hope, so in the dark the prisoners remained.

That and having only the emergency lights on cut down on unnecessary energy expenditures.

The only downside was that Barricade couldn't quite see who he was taunting. All he could really see was a dim outline of a mech in the back corners of the cell and the low glow of the blue optics.

"'Bout time..." the captive Autobot muttered ill-temperedly. "Startin' to think you'd forgotten all 'bout me..."

"I could just as easily not give this to you, scrap-head." Barricade growled, dangling the canister of low-grade temptingly outside the bars. It was pretty crap low-grade, but it wasn't like they were going to give a prisoner the good stuff.

The Autobot snorted and crossed his arms. "The 'Structies haven't let me go offline from lack of fuel. I'm leverage, y'know."

Barricade tried to figure out who the Autobot was, but the mech's coloring didn't show up well in the low light. It was something dark, he was sure, but he had no idea. Maybe it was... Oh forget it; all Autobots started to look alike after a while. He couldn't tell the difference and he didn't want to bother.

"Would be easier to just kill you." the Saleen muttered, tossing the canister neatly into the cell. The Autobot investigated the canister and Barricade clearly saw the scowl.

"You just might if you keep giving me this slag." he groused, but popping open the canister anyways because he knew it was all he was going to get.

"I would like nothing more than to see you die!" Barricade snapped.

The Autobot made a gagging noise when he tasted the low-grade. He started to respond, but a voice interrupted over the ship-wide comlink.

"_Attention. All hands to stations. Autobot shuttle sighted in vicinity. Repeat: Autobot shuttle sighted in vicinity. All hands to stations._"

The Autobot had paused, the canister halfway to his lips. Barricade felt an evil grin stretch across his own lips.

"It's your lucky day, Autobot. You'll be getting some cell-mates after all." he said. He turned to leave, but stopped. "At least, you should. If Megatron doesn't decide to just slaughter them first."

The sound of the Autobot choking on the low-grade was music to Barricade's audials.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

This **was** Red Alert's worst nightmare come true.

The _Nemesis_ was **right there**. They were practically staring down its afterburners.

The passengers of the _Artemis_'s shuttle had gone very still, as though that would help them to avoid detection, but it was too late. The afterburners were beginning to glow red and orange and the rear-mounted cannons were swiveling in their direction. As the five Autobots watched, the cannons began to glow as well.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Red Alert shrieked, not waiting for Hound to react. He knocked the gray-green scout out of the chair and seized the steering controls. He pulled the shuttle out of the way just before the cannons fired off a round. It was a sharp twist that had the engines groaning and the other four flying across the small command deck.

"Slaggit Red! Knock that off!" Hound snapped. He _hated_ it whenever the Security Director got a hold of the steering.

"Oh, so you would rather be hit?!" Red Alert snapped back.

The ponderous body of the _Nemesis_ began to move, slowly but surely, moving around to block their path. The little shuttle, however, had the advantage of agility and shot up and over the larger ship. The array of cannons followed them, targeting and firing. Red Alert had a hell of time directing the shuttle through the forest of cannon blasts, particularly with his comrades shouting out useless advice.

"Left!-- No, right!"

"Watch out for that thing!"

"Throttle it! Throttle it!"

"We must be mentally ill..."

"My optics are working just fine, thank you!" the Security Director shouted loudly at them, yanking the shuttle down without looking and narrowly avoiding another blast. The shuttle shook with the force of the near-miss. "I can handle this!"

"WING!!" Perceptor screeched in terror.

Red Alert turned his optics forward and saw that they were about to crash into one of the _Nemesis_'s angular wings. He executed a screaming turn while his comrades did their own screaming, clinging to one another, and the shuttle missed crashing by just a hairbreadth.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The blip that designated the shuttle disappeared off the scanners.

"They're gone." Scavenger announced.

"What?!" Megatron spun around and the Constructicon shrank back.

"They're gone! They disappeared!" he said quickly. "Right off the scanners!"

"Find them!" Megatron commanded. "That shuttle is too small to have any sort of cloaking device! And warp engines need a breem or two to warm up! They couldn't have gotten away so quickly!"

"Yessir!" Scavenger squeaked. He couldn't run a scan fast enough.

"Soundwave! Jam their shuttle's communications link!" Megatron barked. "We can't have them sending out an S.O.S.!"

"It is done." Soundwave informed him monotonously.

"Barricade! Ready the forward cannons!"

"Aye-aye." Barricade muttered, flicking the switches that brought the forward cannons to life. _Ya virus-ridden chunk of rust-infected slag..._

"Er... Lord Megatron, sir?..." Scavenger started meekly. "The scanners aren't picking the shuttle up anymore. It's just disappear-- Urk!"

Megatron had seized the smaller Constructicon by the neck. The other four shot their feet, barreling forward to assist their gestalt-mate, wrenching him out of the Decepticon lord's massive hands. Losing one had been bad enough and they weren't going to see a second of their number go down.

"Elaborate what you mean by 'disappeared'." Megatron requested in a rough voice, not the least bit put off by the withering glares aimed at him.

Scrapper stepped forward. "It means, sir--"

"I was speaking to Scavenger." Megatron interrupted coldly. The Constructicon in question shivered convulsively. "Go on. Explain to me what you mean by 'disappeared'."

Another shiver wracked the smaller Decepticon's frame.

"_Scavenger, don't look at me; just listen._" Hook started over the comm, coming to his team-mate's rescue. Scavenger twitched half an optic at him. "_Repeat what I tell you._"

"Lord Megatron, sir, the s-scanners aren't detecting the A-Autobot shuttle b-because either they were able t-to get away or they're in our b-blind spot." Scavenger said, repeating Hook's words with a little bit of stuttering.

Megatron glared at Scavenger for an uncomfortably long moment, as though trying to detect the slightest hint of a lie. He had a bullshit meter made sensitive by Starscream's frequent attempts to weasel out of-- well, anything. But Scavenger was naturally a cringe-y sort of guy, so seeing him sink back now wasn't out of character. But then again, Megatron had never had any of the Constructicons lie to him. At least... Not to his knowledge.

_You had best keep an optic on them. They could be lying to you. They could have been lying to you for ages. And you never would have suspected _anything_. Watch your back. Everyone can be a traitor._

Scavenger blinked. The rest of the Constructicons glared.

_Don't think they'll be saying anything. Best leave it alone for now. But definitely keep one optic on them._

"Then flush them out!" Megatron ordered. He turned to stalk back to the other side of the deck. "And if you can't find them, then you're even more worthless than I thought!"

Scavenger's already low self-esteem sunk lower and he hung his head. Megatron stormed over to Soundwave to check on things. Long Haul glanced at Scrapper.

"Well?" he asked. "Your call."

"There are three blind spots around this ship, all near the center." Scrapper pondered briefly and the answer came to him within kliks. "Fire the mid-ship thrusters."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"**This** is utter lunacy." Perceptor announced in his best 'I-am-so-not-happy-with-what's- going-on-around-here-and-I-want-you-all-to-know-it' voice. "We are all going to terminate in a most ghastly manner, aren't we?"

"Percy, shut up." Hound said in a stiffly polite voice.

"I'm merely offering my opinion of our situation!" Perceptor said, his tone a little shrill. "This is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves in to and I for one, do not wish to end my life so soon!"

"Surrendering is not an option to us." Mirage said forcefully. "Unless I'm very much mistaken and something has changed in the vorn I've been in stasis-lock, Megatron is aboard the _Nemesis_ and he will not hesitate to terminate us himself! Running and hiding is what is going to keep us alive."

"No... There's been no change in the world since we last saw you." First Aid said vaguely, staring idly out the view screen, to the massive bulk of the _Nemesis_ suspended above them.

They were hiding underneath it. Right in a sensor blind spot. It was a very bad place to be, but for the moment, they were alive.

"No. Nothing new here. Not at all." Perceptor said ill-temperedly, sinking down into a chair, wearing an extremely humorless expression. He turned that expression to Red Alert. "So? What is your plan now?"

"This is a bad situation for us to be in." Red Alert said, arms crossed and head bobbing. "This, however, will keep us hidden long enough for us to figure out what we can do next."

"Yeah, but if the Decepticons figure out that we're hiding in a blind spot?" First Aid asked worriedly. "I'm with Perceptor on this whole not-dying thing." he added, causing the scientist to just smile.

"Maybe they won't figure it out." Hound said with a touch of optimism. "Maybe they'll think we were able to give them the slip and decide to go chasin' sensor ghosts."

"Sensor ghosts... Aha! We can send out a pulse!" Red Alert said triumphantly. "Sensor ghosts in four directions and let the Decepticons chase one of them. And while they're off doing that, we get away."

"And then?" Mirage asked, cocking a brow-ridge.

"And... that's as much as I have." Red Alert admitted. He had never been very good at flying by the seat of the pants.

"Do we even know what part of the universe we're in?" First Aid asked. "I mean, are we still in the Iruatnece galaxy? That's the last place I can remember us being."

"Wait..." Red Alert held up a hand. "Doesn't the Iruatnece galaxy have a space station near its outer edge?"

"Yes, but I think we're still on the opposite side." Mirage said, crossing his arms. Or trying to. First Aid had gone back to work on the damaged arm, mending the last few twisted wires and dented struts. "The transport ship was heading there before we were attacked by the Sweeps. If we can reach that... Maybe we can send a message out to Prime."

"There's no guarantee that it will reach him. We don't even know where he is." Perceptor said softly.

"Way to be the optimist there."

"Merely grounded in reality, I assure you."

The shuttle experienced a moment of contemplative silence. The path that lay before them was swamped in something dense and murky that they were going to have to wade through. There were far too many unknowns. Processors buzzed, frantically attempting to come up with a workable solution; something that could be adjusted as the situation changed. Much to their dismay, no magical answer came up.

"I think... that we should come up with something very soon." Mirage said, staring past the lot of them out the view screen. They followed his gaze and saw that something in front of them beginning to glow red-orange. "I believe the Decepticons have discovered that we're in a blind spot and are attempting to flush us out."

Hound and Red Alert exchanged looks and both lunged for the steering controls at the exact same moment, playing a game of tug-of-war.

"I'm flyin' this time!"

"No! You'll just crash us or get us shot!"

"You fly like a nutcase! I'm glad you never got reformatted into a flier! You'd make them all look bad!"

"At least I never played robo-chicken with comets! We were scraping ice off the engine casings for a week after you pulled that little stunt!"

While they were busy arguing, Mirage took the helm and steered them out of the way of the blasts of fire that erupted from the mid-ship thrusters. There was only a slight lurch, but no one went sliding across the floor. He hit the throttle, speeding away from the Decepticon ship and towards the planet.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"There they are! They're back! They're back!" Scavenger shouted. "On the right and moving fast!"

"Fire the starboard cannons!" Megatron ordered.

"They're still warming up." Barricade informed the Decepticon lord in a dull voice.

"Pursue them!" Megatron roared, throwing his fisted hands into the air.

_Can't let them get away. They'll be good bargaining chips. Prime would do anything to get his soldiers back. He's compassionate. It's his weakness. Exploit the weaknesses until you have him on his knees._

Scrapper shook his head and sighed and then pulled the large ship around to pursue the small shuttle.

Why were they heading for the planet?

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Why are we heading for the planet?!" Red Alert demanded to know. The shuttle was shaking from the speeds Mirage was pushing out of it.

"We can use the atmospheric friction to slingshot us away!" the spy explained. "It's a move I saw the Aerialbots use once! It's risky, but I think we can manage it!"

"_You fool_!" Perceptor screeched right in Mirage's audial, a death-grip on the chair. "You can't use atmospheric friction for squat! We're just going to get caught in a gravity well and pulled down to the surface! This shuttle is too small! It doesn't have the mass required to break gravity's pull! Nor the engine power!"

The hopeful, determined expression sloughed right off Mirage's face.

"I've killed us, haven't I..."

"We'll be lucky if we survive the impact!"

"Y'know Perceptor, sometimes I hate that you're so smart." Hound said. He clapped a hand on the spy's shoulder. "Raj, buddy. It was really nice knowin' ya and I'm glad I ran into you one more time before we died."

"For Primus's sake, we're not gonna die!" Mirage snapped. He pulled at the steering, but the planet's gravity already had them. It was pulling them down faster than the engines could fight. He could hear them whining with the strain.

He hated it too that Perceptor was so smart.

"It was nice knowing the lot of you." Red Alert said flatly. He reached onto the console and yanked back a lever. The whine of the engines abruptly died and with nothing fighting the gravitational pull, the shuttle plummeted to the planet's surface, the atmosphere burning up around them.

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"Lord Megatron, they're descending to the planet's surface quite rapidly." Hook announced. "Do we pursue?"

"Of course we pursue them!" Megatron shouted, his voice echoing all over the deck. "We can use them as bargaining chips! We can bring Prime to his knees! Take us down!"

"Lord Megatron, sir, I don't mean to ruin the moment," Hook went on, his voice dripping with a dull tone. "But the _Nemesis_ has lengthy procedures for atmospheric entry. It will take at least three breems to properly shield the ship against the heat and friction and by that time, I believe we will have lost the Autobots."

The Decepticon lord's left optic twitched.

"And why is that?" he asked in a deadly quiet voice.

"Cybertron never had much of an atmosphere." Hook explained, still in a dull tone. "Yes, there was enough of one that all ships needed heat shields, but the atmosphere was thin enough that re-entry never posed much of a problem. But that--" He swung a finger around to the view screen where the blue-green planet was visible. "Is a fully organic planet, with an atmosphere that is much thicker than any we've seen so far. There is not a trace of technology anywhere on it. It's all organic. To go down without proper shielding is indicative of a death-wish."

Megatron felt his left optic twitch again. After being out in space so long, he had rather forgotten about atmospheres and all the trickiness that came with getting through them. He had forgotten that not all Cybertronian ships had the proper shielding to deal with atmospheres. He had gotten so caught up with going after those Autobots, he had forgotten to consider the safety of his ship and its occupants, himself included.

Secondly, that planet was organic. If Megatron never set a foot on another organic planet, it would be too soon.

No, he didn't want to lose any of his decent soldiers to the muck of a stinky organic world. They were all he had at the moment and he needed to keep them around. If he wanted those Autobots, he needed to send down someone more -- expendable.

"Soundwave, how many Sweeps do we have?" Megatron asked.

"Number unknown." Soundwave replied. "Ask someone else."

His optic twitched and he turned instead to Scrapper.

"We have fifty available to be deployed." the Constructicon replied without looking up.

"Send half of them in. Have them comb every inch of that miserable planet until the Autobots are located." Megatron instructed. His smile was drenched in pure malice. "And when we find them, we'll know just what to do with them."


	23. Chpt22: Reunion

**A/N:** This chapter emerged after a particularly nasty case of writer's block that about drove me insane. Then I read a good book and it was all systems go. Ever got writer's block? Just read a book.

At this point, I want to apologize to my readers for the decidedly erract updating schedule as of late. I hope it hasn't put anyone off reading. This is what I get fortrying to juggle four or five stories at once. I hit a roadblock in the third arc of this story and I'm still very unhappy with the three chapters that follow this one. The bigger problem is, I've had a shift in focus. If you've noticed, I started posting a _Teen Titans_ story and I suppose I really can't apologize for that. No guarantees yet, but this may very well be the last chapter of anything _Transformers_ that I post for a while. I hate leaving a story unfinished, so don't worry, this will be completed. I don't know _when_, but it will be. That's a promise. Let me just get the Bat out of my belfry first.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

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**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Two: Reunion

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Bluestreak was bored. There were no two ways about it; he was bored. So what did he do to distract himself from being bored? What he normally did. He talked.

"Primus, this sucks. I hate being out here. Especially at night. I don't know what's going be sneaking up on me to chew on my circuits and my night-vision hasn't worked right in ages. I can't hit what I can't see. I mean, come on Silverbolt, stop being all weird and twitchy and let me have a break. Prowl wouldn't do this to me-- Wait... Well, maybe he would. He **is** like that. 'I won't compromise our safety just because you don't want to be out there. Now stop looking at me like that; you know I'm immune.' he would say to me. But he wouldn't send me out _every_ night. Even he's not _that_ mean. We're really short-handed, I know, but I'm just one mech! I need to recharge too!"

The small nocturnal creature with the long fluffy tail (it looked remarkably like a squirrel) that sat on the tree branch in front of him paused in its grooming to regard the chatty mech with curious black eyes. It flicked a long, tufted ear and returned to grooming its face. Bluestreak huffed out a sigh and slumped a little lower on his perch in the tree.

"Silverbolt's not that bad; really, he's not. He's just been in this mood ever since we lost contact with Fireflight and Skydive. He hates losing track of his wing-mates. Guess it's just a gestalt thing. They're sort of a family after all. I know the feeling. I've only got one family member left and-- well, it's Prowl. Man, you should have seen the look on the Twins' faces when I told them that Prowl's my older brother. I seriously though they were gonna short-circuit their CPUs or something."

Bluestreak let out a little laugh which met a quick death in the chilly night air. This side of the planet was going through its winter season, another reason he didn't want to be out here at night. But for the three Aerialbots and their Second War style alt-modes that hadn't undergone much modernization, the cold temperatures were murder for their poor wings. They had been out of the loop for vorns and vorns before the Third War had erupted, living, quite literally, underground and had not been able to receive any upgrades. Between a lack of available supplies and the sheer number of vorns that had passed, there had been few upgrades that had been even remotely compatible with their older systems.

Unfortunately, the heating system had been one of the systems in question and there had been nothing the Autobots' geek squad could do to fix that. As a result, if it was too cold, the Aerialbots had to stay inside; otherwise they ran the risk of their wings going completely numb. Losing their wings and being grounded permanently was a flier's worst fear.

And that was something Bluestreak understood to an extent; his own door-wings twitching under the assault of a light fall of snow that made its deceitful way through the tree branches. He couldn't fly worth a slag, but his door-wings contained a very dense sensory network that he couldn't imagine losing.

The squirrel-creature tilted its head and flicked its tail in Bluestreak's momentary silence, as though wondering why the much larger being had suddenly stopped talking. Its tail flicked once more before it suddenly went stock-still, tufted ears perked at attention. Bluestreak sat up at attention too. Given that he didn't know what would be out of the ordinary around here, he had been keeping an optic on the local wildlife, letting them serve as a sort of early warning system. Usually, it was just a predator wandering through the area, but he stayed alert nonetheless.

And this time, it paid off.

As the squirrel-creature scurried away for the safety of its den inside the tree's trunk, a low, nearly imperceptible hum filled the air. Like the buzz of fluorescent lights or heavy bass music that was felt more than heard. Bluestreak was aware of it and carefully, he leaned forward out of his leafy hiding spot to have a better look.

What crept through the snow-dusted undergrowth on long, stilted legs was a mechanical creature that looked very much like an insect. Its arrow-shaped body was segmented in two like a spider's but it had six legs and long, wavering antennae there were actually very sensitive sensors. Its body was made of dark chrome, blending well into the darkness, but it stood out simply because it didn't belong here.

It was a Sweep, a member of the Decepticon drone army.

But what was doing around here?

This planet, this system was much too far out of the way, but that was probably why the Decepticons were looking out here. Over a vorn had passed since the launch of the AllSpark, but even off its orbit, Cybertron was still a fair distance away and naturally, it took time to get this far out.

Sweeps had two modes, depending on which thought process it was working on: Seek or destroy. This Sweep was in "seek" mode; characterized by the long stilted legs that maneuvered its arrow-shaped body through the brush. Anti-gravs came online when the Sweep switched to "destroy" mode and the legs turned into dangerous bladed weapons.

Bluestreak didn't move a centimeter, tracking the Sweep with his optics. The Sweep's sensors were keyed more to the movement of light and shadows than heat or energy signatures; a large failing, but the Sweeps were drones in every sense of the word. Limited programming and no spark. A.I programming only went so far. But what they lacked in intelligence, they more than made up for in sheer numbers.

Where there was one Sweep, it could assured that there were at least four more in the vicinity.

So Bluestreak didn't move.

The Sweep paused beneath his tree and shuffled around its roots, antennae-sensors investigating the rough bark. The drone clicked out a sequence of sounds and started poking the front two legs into the gaps of the roots.

Bluestreak was holding his breath, so to speak.

What were these things doing here? The planet was wholly organic; the inhabitants not intelligent enough to create technology or use tools and there were none that had the dexterity to be able to do so.

It was the perfect place to hide.

Meaning, that Bluestreak and three of the Aerialbots were not the only Autobots hiding out down here.

At least, that was what the sniper guessed first. For all he knew, maybe the AllSpark was here and the Sweeps had been sent ahead to hunt it down. If it was the AllSpark being hunted down, then it was their duty to protect it. And if it was other Autobots being hunted down, then it was also their duty to help their comrades.

The Sweep finished up its inspection of the tree trunk, clicked again and then set off through the grass. At four other points around him, there was rustling was the other four Sweeps followed their leader. When the rustling was far away from him, Bluestreak let himself relax, inch by inch. Swinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, he braced an arm against the tree trunk and stood up on the thick branch. The tree was huge and more than capable of supporting his weight. He poked his head out of a gap in the leaves and looked out in the direction the Sweeps were heading in.

Nothing remarkable-- Hold on. Was that smoke?

Yes it was; a thin trail of gray smoke leading from the sky to the ground. The Sweeps were heading for the source of the smoke.

_Thinkthinthink! Smoke! What does smoke mean? Damaged ship!_ Bluestreak told himself. _Sweeps means Decepticons, which means the ship that came down is one of ours! They saw the transport and they probably saw that a few of the escape pods were missing! Meaning -- they came looking for survivors! But the Sweeps had to come from somewhere nearby, because they're not built for long-range space travel and they need protection to make it through atmospheres. __**That**__ means... There must be a Decepticon ship somewhere in orbit..._

_Oooh, that isn't good._

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It had been a long time since any Autobot had been overly religious. Constant war had a tendency to kill the sincere prayers in their tracks and invoking the name of Primus had become more of a reflex than truly calling to Him.

Until now, when five Autobots fell to their knees, kissed solid ground for the first time in a long time and spouted all sorts of thanks to the Supreme Creator.

Then they got to work.

"Okay! Try it now!"

The engines began to hum and vibrate and cough and then belched out a load of black, sooty smoke.

"Ack! No! Turn it off! Turn it off!"

The engines shut down again.

Red Alert looked away from his vigilant stare of the far-off horizon. "Progress?"

"Pfft!" First Aid spat a peculiar taste out of his mouth, having gotten a face-full of that black smoke. "There was no sparks, so -- progress."

Despite the strain the engines had **not** suffered on the trip through the atmosphere, they had been turned back on to slow the shuttle's descent once the majority of the friction had been passed and the circuitry hadn't appreciated what it had perceived as abuse. They had slowed the shuttle enough to land safely and the engines hadn't cut out until **after** the shuttle had hit _terra firma_.

Hence the profuse thanking of Primus.

At least they were all alive.

Once the shuttle was back in working order and they had given the Decepticons the slip, they could get on their way.

First Aid waved away the smoke and scooted forward, a wrench held up in a fashion so similar to Ratchet that Mirage twitched despite himself. The young medic peered into the engine block and looked around for the problem. The port-side engines had come out unscathed, but the starboard engines hadn't been quite so lucky.

"Ah! I see the problem." the Protectobot announced. "Mirage, hand me the .09 wiring, will you?"

Mirage looked down in the box he'd been holding while playing helper to the medic and stared blankly at the long coils of wire that were _unmarked._

"What color is it?" the spy asked uncertainly.

"Copper."

Mirage looked in the box again.

"They're all copper."

"No they're not." First Aid reached into the box and extracted two coils. "See, this one is gold." He brandished the coil in his left hand. "And this one is copper." He shook the coil in his right hand.

Mirage was a spy; it was part of his job to notice things others didn't. But he did **not** see a difference between the two coils of wiring.

First Aid dropped the supposedly gold-colored wiring back into the box and went back to the engine with the copper wiring. Mirage decided to chalk this up to the fact that the medic had practically grown up surrounded by wires and circuits and spare parts and knew the insides of some mechs better than anyone else. He had learned to tell the subtle differences between .09 and .06 wiring. He had strung a fair number of mechs back together over the long course of the war.

Red Alert stalked over and leaned over to Mirage.

"Where is Perceptor?" the Security Director asked. Mirage shrugged. He had known right away that Perceptor was going to wander off in a blissful scientific haze. The scientist would turn up when he was good and ready, his curiosity sated.

After a little time spent removing a length of burnt wiring and replacing with new wiring, First Aid removed his now-grimy hands from the interior of the engine casing and tapped his comm.

"Okay, try it again Hound."

Mirage and Red Alert stepped back, just in case.

There was a momentary pause as Hound flipped all the right switches to bring the engines online. To everyone's delight and relief, they came online with a strong, healthy roar. The Autobots cheered as the engines were powered down for the time being.

"Well, one problem solved." Hound said cheerfully as he exited the shuttle. "What 'bout the bigger problem waitin' for us up there?" he asked, jerking a thumb up to the sky.

Red Alert took a moment to think.

"We might be able to use the cloud cover." he said. "Leave the atmosphere on the planet's far side; out of their sensor range. We'll be running the risk of being spotted no matter what we do, so I'd much prefer to formulate a plan that reduces that risk as much as possible."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"I'll go find Percy." Hound offered. "He's good at thinkin' up this kind of stuff."

"Good." Red Alert grumbled, a little ill-tempered. "We don't know _what_ kind of weird slag is running around here."

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As for Perceptor, he hadn't seen any sort of weird slag so far. Just a planet that was brimming with organic life and his processor was buzzing with excitement. He wished that this wasn't just a pit-stop. He would love to spend a little more time here; to examine anything he could lay his hands on. Organic life was fascinating and he wanted a chance to study it more in depth. He never had gotten those research reports all those vorns ago.

The red/blue scientist wandered between the trees, marveling that anything organic could grow so large. He felt small compared to the life forms that towered over his head. And the dusty white stuff on the ground his scanners had identified as a frozen, crystallized form of H2O. They had never had anything like this on Cybertron. Cybertron's version of rainwater was more of an oily residue with minute traces of acid. Temperatures had never dropped quite low enough for it to freeze.

"By Primus, look at this." Perceptor breathed, peering closely at the three bark rimmed in a light coating of frost. "I have never seen anything quite like this before. And certainly not in a natural habitat."

Such intricate patterns in the frost and the bark. He wondered what caused these patterns. Did they form naturally? Or did someone shape them like this? Oh, he wished he could stay longer.

The scientist sighed, a little downheartened.

"We will probably departing soon." he said to himself. "The engines were not in dire straits. Repairs will be done facilely."

Meaning he should take the time he had.

Perceptor wandered a little deeper into the forest, pausing frequently to examine this or pluck a sample of that. He was careful, hoping that he wouldn't upset the local ecosystem. A single leaf here, a little bundle of grass there and maybe a shiny rock or two shouldn't be too detrimental. And maybe a sample of this crystallized H2O. He wanted to get a good look at it under a microscope.

So wrapped up he was in just trying to get a look at everything, he almost didn't notice when his sensors dinged out a warning. The instincts he had developed during the war were all that saved him. Perceptor was on his feet, exploration abandoned in an instant. He reached slowly for the energy pistol hidden in his subspace. Could be nothing; nothing at all, but he'd been ambushed by "nothing" before.

And then he froze as a familiar clicking noise met his audials.

_Oh no... Is that--?_

Ahead of him, an arrow-shaped body emerged from the gloom, thin stilted legs digging into the ground with each step.

_A Sweep._

The Sweep trundled forward, antennae-sensors wavering about. Two more followed about ten feet apart.

_Correction: Three Sweeps._

And there were probably at least two more around.

Perceptor stood stock-still. He knew that the Sweeps keyed in on movement, so if he stood as still as possible, maybe they would pass him by.

The lead Sweep headed right for him, just because he happened to be in the path. The drone halted as it reached him. Perceptor stiffened minutely at the antennae-sensors swept over his body, trying to discern what he was. It clicked and its two comrades hiked over and joined in examining the Autobot scientist with their antennae.

It _tickled_.

Perceptor tried his best to not so much as twitch. If he twitched, these things would switch over to battle-mode and then he'd really be in for it. But the feather-light touches were not helping much and he feared his flimsy cover was about to be blown.

A whimper rose in his throat from his vocalizer. The antennae-sensors were still dancing over his body, trying to figure out exactly what he was. The Sweeps had concluded between themselves that this strange object was unlike all the other tall, round-ish objects they had encountered thus far and that it was not made from the same fibrous substance. It was a conundrum to them and one they were determined to figure out.

Perceptor held as still as he could, but the urge to move was becoming overpowering. He wanted to chase them away, but his little energy pistol wouldn't do much to them. The drones would be on him before he would be able to make it back to the shuttle.

The Sweep on his left suddenly let out a loud burst that sounded like static and its antennae-sensors suddenly stopped dancing about. It made that static-burst again and the other two stopped as well.

Perceptor wondered if maybe he should run.

Like, now.

The three Sweeps reared up, legs folding upwards, the nearly imperceptible hum becoming more audible; the anti-gravs coming online. Previously black optical sensors turned a dark red.

Battle-mode.

They knew.

The transition had occurred in a single klick.

And Perceptor was in a very bad spot.

The scientist was a peaceful mech and did not like fighting, but that didn't mean he hadn't been taught a good number of defensive maneuvers just to keep his own aft from becoming melted slag.

Before the blades could come down on him and rip him to shreds, Perceptor was on the move; leaping over the lead Sweep and hitting the ground running. The Sweeps pulled about and started to pursue, loud bursts of white noise erupting from their vocalizers every few klicks. It echoed amid the trees, reaching out, _calling out_. Calling out to other Sweeps in the area. These three were not the only ones nearby.

Perceptor didn't want to know how many Sweeps he was going to have on his aft very shortly, but he knew that he was going to have to keep them away from the shuttle. Megatron knew that they were down here and he had sent the Sweeps in to flush them out. The Decepticon lord was counting on them to use the shuttle to get away and he would just shoot them down once they came into sight. Perceptor knew that and he wasn't going to let Megatron have even a small victory. Even if he had to play a game of cyber-cat and glitch-mouse.

The only problem was, in such a game, the cyber-cat usually won.

Fine bit of slag pulled from the smelter, this was.

And then he tripped.

Perceptor wasn't given the opportunity to see what precisely he had tripped over because he heard the deathly whirring of six sharp blades that would reduce him to an array of basic components in a matter of breems. His hand shot for the energy pistol that had slipped from his fingers in his fall, but he couldn't seem to move fast enough.

***Ka-thunk!***

Something hollow impacted with the Sweep's body armor, tearing into the vital components of the head. The red glow of the optics flickered out, the legs sagged limply and the entire body fell lifelessly to the ground as the anti-gravs cut out.

A second Sweep met the same fate.

A sniper, Perceptor realized. A sniper in the trees.

Oh, someone up there liked him!

And he didn't just mean literally.

The sniper shots had the remaining herd of Sweeps gliding about in confusion, attempting to locate the shooter while Perceptor threw himself behind a tree to stay out of the way. Some 20 Sweeps met identical fates and soon the vicinity was littered with drone corpses.

The scientist peered tentatively from his hiding spot. A few were twitching in the throes of death, but there was no substantial movement. He glanced up, looking about for his rescuer. He spotted a flicker of movement in a treetop not 15 feet off. It grew more pronounced as it moved down. A mechanical body was revealed in places, making him wonder--

"Perceptor?" a familiar voice called out tentatively and the scientist started as Bluestreak practically leapt from the bottom-most branches and hurled himself the red/blue mech for a hug, already chattering up a storm. Perceptor caught that the gist of it was that the sniper was happy to see another familiar face. This, he could safely say, he had not expected.

"--been months since we last heard from _anyone_! Do you know what's going on; anything?! Did you get the message we sent out?! We sent one out but Slingshot was certain that it wasn't going to be received. He's been such a downer lately, but I think he's missing Skydive and Fireflight-- I mean, Air Raid and Silverbolt too, but Slingshot's being more of a jerk about it and it's bad enough that he's just a jerk in the first place. Please tell me you know what's going on, Percy! I thought we were going to be stuck here _forever_! It's so boring and I feel like I'm rusting and it's so fragging cold out here and why are there Sweeps here? Is it because you're here? Is it just you or are there others? Tell me there are others! I need someone new to talk to! I've been talking to the wildlife, Percy! The wildlife! And they don't talk back!"

Wide blue optics stared beseechingly at the scientist. Perceptor ran through all the chatter he had just heard and tried to find the pertinent questions.

"Er-- You say that three of the Aerialbots are here as well?" he finally asked.

"Yep! Silverbolt, Air Raid, and Slingshot." Bluestreak replied. "Did I mention that we lost contact with Fireflight and Skydive? It's made Silverbolt all weird--"

"Bluestreak." Perceptor interrupted. The sniper's jaw clacked shut. "Could you go and retrieve them? Meet with me here and we'll head back to the shuttle. First Aid is with us--"

"Really? That's great! My night-vision has been on the fritz and I'd love to have it repaired and I bet they'll be happy to know that someone from another gestalt team made it out and everything--"

"Bluestreak! The Aerialbots?"

"Sure thing!"

Good spirits fully renewed, Bluestreak skipped off happily to retrieve the three jets from the makeshift-shelter they'd been bunking in for the past vorn, eager to leave this rock behind.

Perceptor couldn't help but smile a little as the sniper disappeared into the woods. It was nice to see another familiar face; one that he hadn't been staring at for the last vorn.

"_Percy! Percy! Answer your slaggin' comm already!_"

The scientist jerked, the voice just now coming through.

"There's no need to be rude, Hound." Perceptor admonished.

"_I heard gunshots. Are you alright?_"

"Peak condition, I assure you. The Decepticons sent down Sweeps, but the threat has been neutralized. I also have a reason to believe that our landing here may not have been entirely coincidental."

"_Really? Never had you pegged as the type to believe in Fate..._"

"I have never classified myself that way." Perceptor replied sniffily. "But I had the good fortune to encounter Bluestreak before the Sweeps could dismember me."

"_Blue's here?!_"

"Yes, as well as three of the Aerialbots. Could you relay the information to Red Alert? I believe I am out of range."

"_Sure! Are you waitin' for them?_"

"Yes, we will be returning to the shuttle as a group."

"_Alright. Meet you back there. Take care._"

"And you."

Perceptor sighed as he cut the communication. As soon as they were clear of any Decepticons, the next thing they would all do was play the information-catch-up game and it would inevitably lead to one thing: No, they didn't have the faintest fragging clue where Prime or the AllSpark was.

The one thing Perceptor wasn't looking forward to doing was telling Silverbolt about Skyfire. The Aerialbot commander had always kept an optic out for the young Valkyrie; that the scientist knew. It was flier mentality; they always watched out for each other; hardwired into their programming for some reason. Aerialbot or not, Silverbolt was going to be none too pleased to hear that Skyfire had gone and unnecessarily sacrificed himself for the cause. Especially now with two of his wing-mates already missing.

He wasn't going to wonder if life could get any worse, because he knew full-well that it could.

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"Lord Megatron--"

"_What_?!"

The almost unnatural growl had Scrapper pulling back a step. Megatron's face was twisted in an ugly snarl. Scrapper looked around covertly. He didn't appear to have interrupted anything, but he could have for all he knew.

"Tell me you located the Autobots." the Decepticon lord growled.

Scrapper's optics flickered briefly to the fusion cannon. Disconnected, but still within reach. He could duck and get away before a shot could get off.

"Not -- precisely."

"_WHAT_?!?!"

"You see -- Lord Megatron, sir, we did locate the Autobots, however, the Sweeps were destroyed." Scrapper said, tense and drawing one foot back in preparation to run away. Those pit-fire optics were smoldering. "The Autobots didn't take the bait."

One swing sent the table flying. The table that had been _bolted_ to the floor.

"And what do you mean by that?" Megatron asked in a hiss, rising from his seat.

Scrapper took another step back.

"Just that, sir." the Constructicon said, looking oddly smaller. "I'm afraid the-- plan with the Sweeps was the only one we had, as you vetoed the idea of making planet-fall ourselves--"

"So you're saying that this is my fault?!" Megatron asked, seeming to grow larger himself.

"No-- no!" Scrapper replied hastily, fearing for the safety of his spark. "But we had no plan B if the Autobots didn't take the bait--"

"And whose fault is that?!" Megatron roared, advancing on the mech, fists clenched tightly. Scrapper took another step in the direction of the door. "Whose fault is it that the Autobots will be able to slip away right under our noses?! Yours and your team-mates! You had the idea of using the Sweeps!"

No it was you, Scrapper didn't say. The want to live far outweighed the injustice of being blamed.

"Get out!" Megatron snapped and the Constructicon didn't waste a second. The door hissed shut behind him. Megatron kicked at the table again.

The incompetence of them all!

When had they become such fools?! When had they become so like-- like Starscream?

No... It made too much sense...

_Should have finished that incompetent fool off years ago... It's obvious what happened. He's gone and tainted the rest of the troops with his idiocy. And now they all think like him. They all entertain desires to be the next leader of the Decepticons. But who is the ringleader?_

Megatron sat back down in his throne. It was the place where he belonged. He and he alone. There was no one equal to him. He was greater.

_And what of the Autobots? Should they be allowed to slink away; their tailpipes between their legs? Let them warn Prime of the coming danger that is Lord Megatron, Supreme Overlord of the universe?_

But he wanted to take Prime by surprise.

_No, no. There is more of a sporting chance when the enemy has a moment to prepare. Ripping his spark out alongside the Matrix will be far more satisfying if you can thrash him around a bit beforehand. Have some fun. Toy with him a little._

That was true. The thrill was in the chase, not the capture. Yes, the capture could be quite satisfying as well, but it was the chase that made the entire adventure worthwhile.

Yes, he could let these little Autobots slip by for now. He would let them get to Earth and to Prime and warn him. He wanted to see the look on Prime's face when the inevitable finally happened.

But if these little Autobots crossed his path a second time, Megatron was going to be considerably less than merciful.


	24. Chpt23: From the Outside In

**A/N:** Hey, what's this? Oh! This is me updating this story after five months! Yay! Right, so this chapter has been happily kicking my ass for a while now. In case everyone has forgotten what happened recently, you should probably go back and skim the last chapter or two just to remind yourself where you left off. This chapter here picks up a new plot thread and yes, there are original characters in here. In fact, there's not a canon character in sight. Now, I know some of you might wish stabbity-death upon original characters, but I sort of need these guys to move the plot forward. If it makes you feel any better, most of them started life as characters who were in the background; there for the purposes of filling in the blanks. But I would appreciate it if you did not wish stabbity-death upon them. I'm probably going to need them later.

Another thing regarding the OCs. It came to my attention that there is a canon character named **Shadow Striker.** I have an OC named **Shadowstrike**. This is _purely_ coincidently and these two characters have absolutely _nothing_ to do with each other.

At this point, I can't guarantee that I'll have the next chapter up on schedule (that is, next Friday). I need a bit of creepy, ominous poetry for the next chapter and I'm not very good at writing that sort. Anyone good with creepy, ominous poetry? All I've got right now is some dots to fill in the spots where there should be dialogue. Seriously, they're the most ominous dots that ever existed.

If you're reading this now, thanks for not completely giving up on me. I really wish I could have gotten this up sooner, but I wasn't feeling inspired. On that note, I'd like to thank Meiza and her wonderful story for being awesome enough to make me want to pick up this story again. No, seriously. Nothing like a cool bit of writing to make you feel inspired again.

Please don't kill the original characters!

**Disclaimer:** The **concept **of _Transformers_, among other things, belongs to HasTak and some other people. All the **characters** introduced here are completely original and thus belong to me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Three: From the Outside In

* * *

The planet of Cybertron boasted a very long and equally colorful history, marked by two distinct ages of peace. The First Golden Age of Cybertron had been the longest and it had ended with the start of the Second Cybertronian War. The Second Golden Age of Cybertron had come to an abrupt end with the assassination of the esteemed Sentinel Prime. Despite this colorful history, the planet had managed to stay relatively safe the whole while.

Sadly, that was not the case anymore.

Cybertron was no longer the safe place it used to be.

Once it had had two moons that had lit up the night skies more effectively than any floodlights. And two bright suns -- both still young in their life-cycles -- that had given the planet daylight and warmth. Once, it had been a home that the mechs were extraordinarily proud of.

Now it floated unfixed in space; dark and quiet to the point of unsettling with only the occasional rays of light hitting its surface. It had long since been knocked off its orbital path and had drifted out of its original solar system ages ago.

Once the skies had been clear and an eerily beautiful silver-blue, the air clean and pure, and the wind always blowing.

Now they were clogged with smog and chemicals and many other disgusting things that were harmful to a mech's intakes. Cybertron's own gravitational pull kept this cloud of death cloaked around it.

In short, Cybertron had become very dangerous between the moment of orbital displacement and the present time. Many of the planetary defenses had shut down with the launch of the AllSpark and some of the satellites had come crashing down to the planet's surface; their orbits decaying and no power left to keep them aloft. A few satellites remained and their signals had quickly been high-jacked by the separate groups scattered around the globe.

To make the situation more difficult (as if it really needed to be), a fair number of transports that had evacuated during the Purge had turned right around and had come home the klik the coast was clear. And then there were the mechs who had simply dug their heels in and had refused to leave Cybertron at all. They had only emerged from their hiding places when the Decepticons had left.

And the Decepticons had left the Neutrals a nice little present. A contingent of self-sustaining, self-replicating Sweeps. The Sweeps had been programmed to basically pick off anything with a spark signature (and sometimes, anything that moved); further hampering the efforts to rebuild made by the remaining Neutrals.

But just when the Neutrals had thought that matters couldn't possibly be any worse than they already were, they had discovered something that had just done that. There had no longer been enough power running through the planet to keep the barriers that blocked off the Underworld working. There had been a rush to reinforce these thick sheets of metal as quickly as possible. An old myth stated that monstrous creatures lived in the Underworld; Primus's failed first attempts at creating life. The myth said that Primus hadn't had the spark to kill them, so he had merely sealed them away and had started anew with the mechs that currently populated the world. And the Neutrals had been in no hurry to figure out if that old myth had had any truth to it.

The problem was, it did have truth to it.

And with this knowledge, some mechs had become very jumpy.

***Thunk!*thunk!*clatter*rollrollroll***

"What was that?!" asked the panicky voice of a mech. "Did you guys hear that?! Did you hear it?! What was it?!"

"Calm down." There was a heavy sigh from a second mech. "It was probably just a retro-rat or something. I swear that they're the only things left around here that are still outliving us."

"Oh. I hate retro-rats. I hope it doesn't come over this way."

"I hope it's big enough to eat you."

A long pause of one not quite comprehending or even listening. The first mech turned towards the second with an inquisitive expression.

"You said something?"

And then a third mech butted into the conversation, very irritated with the increasing amount of noise the two were making.

"Will you two shut your yaps before you alert every Sweep in the area and bring down on us?" he demanded of them. "I am not going to get my aft kicked by those sparkless drones, thank you very much!"

The first two mechs ducked their heads like chastised younglings, though they were far removed from those peaceful days when they could claim innocence and ignorance regarding the world at large.

"You know better than to let your attention wander when we're away from base, Buttercup." Nebula said, irked by his companions' behavior. "And Shadow, stop getting under his circuits or you're not going to like what I'll do next."

"Sorry, Nebula." said the femme of the trio; a diminutive black and silver Trinity jet known as Shadowstrike.

"Buttercup?" Nebula arched a browridge at the other mech, who was in fact painted a bright, cheerful buttercup yellow.

"For the billionth time, my name is _Solarhaze_. Not 'Buttercup'." the mech in question muttered ill-temperedly; so not saying what he was supposed to be saying. He crossed his arms and scowled. "Why do you people keep forgetting that? I am a Valkyrie-class jet. A VF-1S model. That was the last model ever manufactured, y'know."

Two pairs of optics slowly turned back to regard Solarhaze with very doubting expressions.

"You're one to talk about forgetting things." Shadowstrike said in a measured voice. "For starters, I don't know how many times **you've** gotten **my** name wrong."

"I have never gotten your name wrong!" Solarhaze protested, like the very implication offended him. "I've gotten it right every single time!"

Shadowstrike held up a hand and started to tick off the numerous variations of her name that Solarhaze had come up with during their overly long acquaintance.

"It's funny, but I don't recall my name being Shade, Gloom, Trace, Murk, Umbra, Silhouette, Filter, Veil, Haze, Eclipse, Penumbra, Overshadow, Tincture, Adumbration--" She made a face on the last one, wondering where the heck it had come from. "Nor is it Smite, Beat, Drive, Smack, Swat, Clout, Pop or anything else that comes out of that glitched-up processor of yours."

"My processor is not glitched. It's far from being glitched." Solarhaze made a face at her. "As a matter of fact, I'll have you know that Breakstream said that I'm in peak physical and mental health."

"What did I tell you two about being quiet?" Nebula snapped impatiently, whirling on them, the binoviewers raised above his head as if to wallop them both. They fell silent again. "That's better. Now in case you sparklings have forgotten along the way, we're raiding this med-center because we're nearly out of supplies and Breakstream will strip us down to the bare protoform if we don't come back home with the stuff he needs to put us back together. Is it sticking in your processors now?!"

"But -- haven't we already raided this med-center?" Shadowstrike wondered. "I mean, this **is** something that we do an awful lot."

"Yes, but this is the First District med-center. We haven't raided this one yet." Nebula replied, turning back to building that rose in the middle distance. "We've hit all the others, but not this one." He glared at them. "Now get back to work. I don't want to hear another peep outta either of you."

Shadowstrike and Solarhaze sunk back a little and returned to their previous activities, feeling more and more like scolded younglings. Nebula could make anyone feel like a scolded youngling. Back in the days before the war, he had been an instructor at the Iacon Flight Academy, so that ability had been very useful. It was still useful even now.

They were almost doing reconnaissance out here; sitting on this damn highway overpass for nearly three joors already, waiting for-- Primus, what were they waiting for anyways? A clear path? The astrologically correct moment? For _grass_ to grow? Nebula would be the one to give them the signal that it was safe to move in and waiting for that signal was making the two jets very restless and impatient; hence the lack of the required silence.

Solarhaze leaned close to his comrade. "Hey, Dusk."

"What?" Shadowstrike got a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her fuel tank. No particular reason. It was just always there whenever Solarhaze activated his vocal processor.

"I was just thinking. Do you think it's really as bad as I've heard them say?" Solarhaze asked, sounding honestly curious.

"Heard who say what?" Shadowstrike asked, not quite understanding. It was probably the most inquisitive thing that had come out of his mouth in a while.

"The other Neutrals. And the war." Solarhaze elaborated. "The last time we had another group over at the Compound, one of them mentioned that they were still in contact with some Autobots. Apparently, the war wasn't going very well abroad."

He looked at her expectantly like she knew the answer.

"I don't know. I really don't." Shadowstrike said, shaking her head. She stared at the portable scanner she was holding. "It's been nothing but communications blackout for us ever since the Autobots and Decepticons left the planet."

"And I say good riddance too." Nebula snorted from the other side of the overpass. "The 'Cons kept trying to kill us and the 'Bots kept trying to get us in a war we wanted no part in."

His posture changed and he leaned a little further over the edge, his optics still glued to the binoviewers.

"Heads up kiddies. We got a battalion of Sweeps bearing 2-2-3-0 out of the northwest. They'll pass right under us in just a couple of breems." He scowled. "They're off their normal patrol routes again."

Without waiting for another klik, the three mechs sitting on the overpass dropped down out of sight, laying flat on their backs. The silence that followed was soon broken by the rapid clicking of multiple clawed feet on the street beneath them. It took a full ten breems for the drones to pass by and another five before the clicking had faded into the background. Shadowstrike and Solarhaze kept their optics on Nebula until he gave the signal that it was safe to resume look-out.

"Primus, our lives suck serious aft." Nebula groaned, retraining the binoviewers on the med-center that they had been trying to raid for the last four orns. The sudden unpredictability of the Sweeps' patrol routes had been repeatedly fouling the plan. "Our stealth sucks serious aft. Our methods suck serious aft. Our leadership sucks--"

"Have you got a problem with Crosswind's leadership?" Shadowstrike asked defensively, glaring hotly at the multi-hued Tetra-jet, silently daring him to say more. She respected their commander very much and held him in high regard; if just because he had gotten them this far without losing too many of them.

Nebula, on the other hand, was Crosswind's oldest friend and wing-mate, and as a result of that, he knew every single one of Crosswind's faults. So he could never show the Deltoid the same amount of respect that Shadowstrike did. But out of courtesy for the fact that their friendship had survived close quarters and what was essentially a siege that had been carrying on for Primus only knows how long anymore (though not without some strain), the Tetra-jet said nothing in reply.

"Thank you. Now what's the plan?" Shadowstrike asked, shifting from a defensive posture to one that was more submissive to authority.

"First, how are the scanners looking?" Nebula asked, all business. "Anything in the air? Not that I expect there to be anything."

"All clear on the ground. No smart mech would be flying in this atmosphere." Shadowstrike replied. She grabbed a headset and placed in over an audial to listen. "The skies are transmission-free. No incoming or outgoing radio broadcasts. We're still running on a comm blackout."

"Didn't expect anything different." Nebula said. "Alright kiddies. The coast is as clear as it's going to get. Time to move out."

He set the binoviewers down.

"Shadow, Solar. You two are going in cold. No active scanners or sensor pings and keep the internal comm transmissions to the bare minimum. Get into the med-center and get what supplies you can find. In and out in two joors, and remember, radio if there's an honest emergency. Let's not have a repeat of the anticmos-spider incident."

"Let's throw a nest of those things at **you** and see how much **you** like it." Solarhaze muttered, crossing his arms.

"For the last time, I didn't think it was going to fly off like that." Shadowstrike said, having the grace to look sheepish. "It was just an accident."

"Yeah, well--"

"Enough!" Nebula interrupted. Never give them a chance to get going. Ever.

"Nebula, does Crosswind ever notice that me and Buttercup don't get along?" Shadowstrike asked with a note of desperation in her voice. "I don't even get along very well with you!"

"Gee, haven't noticed." Nebula rolled his optics. He sighed, putting a hand over his optics. "Look, I don't get to make the rules that often, but if Crosswind pairs the two of you up, he's always got a good reason for doing it. He's not doing it to annoy you."

"Sure feels like it." Shadowstrike muttered, scowling.

"Don't start." Nebula requested, just as Solarhaze opened his mouth to retaliate. "The point is, You two work well enough together; balancing out strengths and weaknesses and all that." He pointed to the med-center. "Now get a move on and play nice or Primus help me, I'll have Breakstream rewire your processors so you think you're sparklings."

Feeling more chastised by the klik, the two younger jets shuffled off, sneaking their way off the overpass to the low streets. A couple of breems later when they were walking down the empty streets to the abandoned med-center, Solarhaze leaned down to Shadowstrike.

"Can Breakstream actually rewire our processors so that we think we're sparklings?" he asked.

"I doubt it. Breakstream's a good medic, but he's not **that** good." Shadowstrike pointed out. "You would need someone with more qualifications than just field medic to pull something like that off."

They came up to an intersection and immediately flattened themselves against the wall of the building on their right. Her wings folded down behind her back, Shadowstrike peeked around the corner to see if there was anything or even anyone coming from either direction. All roads were empty. The two jets sprinted across the intersection and didn't stop until they were safe in the darker shadows cast by the tall buildings around them.

"Y'know, sometimes I wonder if we're the only real mechs left in Iacon." Solarhaze whispered to the femme, glancing at the rusting, increasingly dilapidated structures. He could remember a time when these buildings had stood tall and proud over everything. Before the war when Iacon was still the bright jewel of Cybertron.

But those days had passed a long time ago.

The two jets continued to make their way through the streets of the once-stronghold of the Autobot forces. The Autobots themselves had vacated the city just over a vorn ago to pursue the lost AllSpark and the Decepticons had followed; leaving just the Neutrals, the Sweeps and a variety of wildlife that was beginning to take over the city from the outside in. As far as Shadowstrike could tell, it was likely that they and the rest of the team were the only real mechs left in the city or anywhere around it. Iacon had never been meant to be a military stronghold, unlike Polyhex and to a lesser extent, Kaon. Polyhex and Kaon had been abandoned by the Decepticons and the supplies had been left behind. The Autobots had been careful to take with them what they could. Iacon was too empty. And much too close to the Gouge for anyone's comfort.

Some mechs said that these were cursed days.

"Slag, this would be so much easier if we could just fly there." Solarhaze complained from somewhere behind Shadowstrike. The femme rolled her optics in exasperation. Weren't they supposed to be staying quiet here? The whole point of being sneaky was made null if they were too loud.

"Fly? You mean you **want** to end up like Counterglow?" she asked incredulously. "He was still spewing up brown stuff when I visited him this morning."

"He was? Eww..." Solarhaze groaned. "I never would have been dumb enough to fly in this murk." he added, making a gesture to the ugly dark brown sky overhead.

"Didn't you just say that you wanted to fly?" Shadowstrike asked.

"Gloom, we're jets. We have to fly." Solarhaze said, and Shadowstrike had to agree with him there. "But I'm an awesome flier. You should have seen me back in the day. I've got some holo-pics I can show you."

"Will you keep your vocalizer unless you really want to get found and _eaten_!" Shadowstrike hissed crossly. But Solarhaze made a dismissive noise and hand gesture and just -- kept talking.

"You say that now, but you just wait until you finally see me in the air. **Then** you'll be impressed."

_I don't think he's listening to me anymore._ The femme thought, her already low opinion of Solarhaze was sinking ever lower. She didn't like him much, but he was the closest thing to a friend that she had. As depressing as the concept was.

"Now! Let's get this slagging mission over with and done for and then we can get on back to the Compound!" Solarhaze said in a triumphant sort of way.

He marched ahead and past her and then around the next corner of yet another boarded-up building. For reasons that was not entirely unknown to her, Shadowstrike just couldn't bring herself to follow him. She couldn't believe that she had to do this mission with good ol' Buttercup, of all the possible mechs. Unfortunately, there was rather a severe lack of partners to choose from; what with Iacon and all the surrounding areas being virtually abandoned. Anyways, Crosswind knew all their strengths and weaknesses and after two hundred and sixty-one vorns of putting up with one another, he had become very well-acquainted with them.

Shadowstrike's biggest weakness was-- In as kind a way as possible, she was tiny. Well, not tiny-tiny, but she was considerably smaller than most femmes her age. The top of her head barely cleared Nebula's elbow. As the smallest of the group, she wasn't meant to take a whole lot of damage. Her only saving graces were that she was fast enough to escape from danger and her alt-mode (when she could use it) had had a formidable weaponry system installed. Crosswind had reasoned that because Shadowstrike was the smallest, then she oughta be the most heavily armed to make up for it.

Solarhaze, on the other hand, was the largest member as well as the fastest, due to his Valkyrie alt-mode. But since Valkyries didn't take the war modifications very well, he possessed zero built-in weapons. His most noticeable weakness was his apparent inability to stop and think before he leapt headfirst into a dangerous situation. Unlike Shadowstrike, who preferred to hang back long enough to examine the situation before throwing herself into it.

So in physical strength and mental capacity (or the lack of regarding both), the two of them balanced each other out.

That and he was usually the only other mech available for this sort of field work. Crosswind usually had enough on his plate to deal with at any given time; between trying to keep them all safe and alive, and trying to figure out what the other groups of Neutrals were up to. And there were some real bothersome "rogue" groups that kept hanging out around the Canyon Ring Route and looking awfully shifty.

Counterglow was often too excitable to really be trusted for stealth-work and he was the only one who had learned how to work the photon cannons in the Compound. In case of an attack, they needed him there. Additionally, he was still laid-up in the medbay thanks to an unscheduled flight through a very bad portion of the half-toxic atmosphere.

Breakstream was needed for his medical skills, as he was the only one who had any sort of experience in that sort thing. And that meant he oughta stay away from the front lines in order to stay alive.

Overcast was the only one who had a long enough attention span to stay focused on the monitors, keeping a watch for any possible attacks on the Compound and he was capable of keeping a cool head through almost anything.

And while Nebula was very good at field-work like this, he wasn't the gung-ho sort. Oh, he would attack like a mech possessed whenever someone interrupted his personal time with a glass of high-grade, but if his supply of highly-energized drinks was not jeopardized, then he much preferred to stay back in the shadows.

So it was Solarhaze that Shadowstrike's partner had to be.

But if this turned out to be one of Crosswind's weird and twisted little plans to get the two of them working better together, she was going to _kill_ that red Deltoid in the messiest fashion she could think of.

"_Eeeeeeeek_!!"

Shadowstrike slumped, her shoulders dropping and her arms swinging slightly at her sides. The shrill, girly shriek echoed among the buildings for a couple of kliks before she slapped a hand over her face.

"Please. Tell me that was not Buttercup." she requested, trotting forward, hoping that Solarhaze was just freaking out over a glitch-mouse or something small and harmless and easily shooed away. She hoped that maybe Primus was listening for once.

But Primus was **not** listening and that was **not** the case.

The yellow Valkyrie was standing in the middle of the street, stock-still and stiff, his wings quivering. In front of him was a massive bio-mechanical creature that would have towered over both of them if it had been standing. But instead it was sprawled on the road, snoring gently and seemingly fast asleep. Metallic teeth longer than Solarhaze's arms gleamed dully in what little light there was. Wickedly taloned hands were stained with old blue energon. Pockmarked organic skin and corroded, rusty armor plating were stained with other fluids. Overall, the creature was just very -- pointy.

The true name of this creature was lost in the annals of time, but the stories always referred to them "daemons". Once thought to be nothing more than a legend; they had turned out to be very, very real.

And now they stalked the streets of Iacon.

"_OhPrimusohPrimusohPrimusohPrimus--_" Solarhaze was babbling over his comlink. "_It'sgonnakillmeIt'sgonnaeatmeI'mgonnadieI'msodead--_"

"_Solarhaze!_" Shadowstrike shouted at him over the comlink. She was loathe to use it because sometimes, daemons could hear them talking anyways, but this was an emergency. "_Solarhaze! Don't move! Just don't move!_"

"_I'm not moving! I swear to Primus I'm not moving!_" The Valkyrie was trembling quite badly, but he wasn't making any sudden movements. "_What do I do?! Dusk, what do I do?!_"

"_Calm down! Calm down and listen to me! Are you listening?_"

"_Yes! Oh Primus, Shadow! Get me out of here!_"

"_Okay..._" For a few agonizing breems, Shadowstrike's processor was unhelpfully blank. She kept staring at the long teeth and snoozing form of the daemon, just waiting for it to wake up and swallow them whole. They always did that. Daemons feasted on energy and the energy of a mech's spark was nothing short of delectable to them. If this daemon woke up while they were still standing here, then they would never stand a chance at seeing daylight again.

"_Okay, Solarhaze? We don't want this thing waking up, so first of all, you need to stay as quiet as possible. Can you do that for once?_" Shadowstrike asked.

"_If it gets me out of here, yes. Yes, I can._" the yellow Valkyrie squeaked.

_That'll be the orn._ Shadowstrike thought to herself. "_Alright, you can start by taking a step back. You're going to have to get yourself out because there is no way I'm charging up my engines. On that note, don't charge up yours either._"

"'_Kay!_"

Slowly, Solarhaze picked up one leg and moved it back. Then he did the same with the other until he was moving in a sort of shuffling walk on his toes. He paused every step, still eyeing the daemon with a whole lot of fear and apprehension. Fortunately, the beast seemed to be very deeply asleep as it did not wake when Solarhaze's foot came down on a piece of sheet metal. Both mechs froze at the abrupt clanging noise, but the daemon only shifted and tucked its head further under its arm.

The yellow Valkyrie shuffled back a few more steps, well out of the striking range of the daemon and jumped slightly when Shadowstrike's hands touched lightly on his back, just below his wings. She steered him away from the massive creature and back to the road they had been walking on previously. Without a word, the two jets slipped way as quietly as they could. Neither of them spoke out loud until they were far, far out of earshot.

"Aw Primus, that was way too close." Solarhaze breathed, glancing over his wing as if to make sure that the daemon wasn't following them. "We could have been slagged. I'm too young to die."

"I get it. I'm even younger than you." Shadowstrike reminded him.

"But like I said earlier." Solarhaze started. "This would be so much easier if we could fly."

"Yeah, well we don't get that luxury." Shadowstrike muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "C'mon, looks like we'll have to find another way into the med-center."

They ended up on a roundabout path to the medical center and lost about half a joor of their allotted time. The building was sealed up, though very badly. The Autobots had been in quite the hurry to leave and had done a slipshod job. The two jets whipped out flashlights and set about trying to find a way in. Solarhaze did find the main entrance and spent a few moments tugging fruitlessly on the handles; probably thinking in typical mech fashion that if he applied enough force, he would get them open.

Even if he did manage it, there was a set of thick, heavy blast doors that were literally inches behind the plate-glass doors to contend with.

Shaking her head, Shadowstrike chose to find the path of least resistance, like most femmes did. The front doors weren't an option at the moment, so she stepped out from underneath the awning that protected the front entrance from the elements and walked far enough into the street until she had a good look at the first-floor windows above the awning. In doing so, she spotted her way in.

"Hey Buttercup!" Shadowstrike went back up to the Valkyrie and pointed up to the awning. "Hoist me up there!"

"Okay!"

Solarhaze may have been insufferable and irrepressibly full of himself, but Primus bless the bastard, at least he had learned how to listen and take orders.

There was a window where time had taken down part of the covering and it didn't look like it was holding on by much anymore. Standing on the awning with the flashlight tucked under elbow, Shadowstrike dug her fingers under the corroding sheet metal and gave it a hard yank. It ripped off, bit by bit, until there was enough room for her to crawl through. The glass in the window had broken long before she had ever gotten here.

"What are you doing up there?" she heard Solarhaze call.

"Finding a way in!" she replied. Then she tossed the flashlight inside (durable, that thing was), folded her wings back and squeezed head-first through the gap she had made.

She hit the tiled floor harder than she expected to, but Solarhaze's voice was blissfully muffled to the point of being incoherent. Shadowstrike breathed a sigh of relief and for a moment, she debated going on ahead by herself. The only problem was, if she did, she would never hear the end of it. Solarhaze would whine and gripe for joors about being left behind. Nebula would proceed to look very disappointed with her and then follow her everywhere for several orns. And that would get very old very fast.

Nearly all of her fellow femmes who had survived the massacre had disappeared into hiding afterwards. Shadowstrike hadn't gone with them, because she had felt a responsibility towards her team and had opted to stay behind with them. Afterwards, Nebula had made it something of a point to make certain that she never left the Compound unescorted; even if she did have the strongest weaponry of the team.

Shadowstrike hated it when people hovered around her.

"Let's shove a sparking hollow in **you** and have everyone hanging over **your** wings every klik. And then we'll see how much you like it, Nebula." the black-silver femme grumbled. She grabbed the flashlight off the floor and then straightened up, dusting her hands off against her legs as she looked around. She had landed in a dark front corridor, not far from the overnight patient rooms, if she didn't miss her guess.

Outside, Solarhaze's voice grew a bit louder.

"Oh, suffer a bit, Buttercup. I'm enjoying a mech-free moment here." Shadowstrike spat, a bit harshly, but it wasn't often she got time to herself and she had to take it where she could get it.

She couldn't rightly explain why, but she had disliked Solarhaze from the klik she had laid optics on him. It had been like an instinctual dislike of him; like it was in her programming or something. She couldn't explain it, because as far as she knew, she hadn't met the yellow Valkyrie any time before the war had begun. But she had disliked the very sight of Solarhaze; before he had ever opened his mouth.

She just wished that she had a good explanation to give him.

It took her a moment to reorient herself to the interior of the med-center. The Iacon Medical Center of the First District was not quite as she remembered it, but she had been here quite a lot in her younger vorns and while her sense of direction was usually accurate, being away from a place for such a long while could warp the details of one's memories a little.

_I think the stairs are that way..._ Shadowstrike thought, peering down the darkness off to her left. Consequently, she didn't see what was coming from the right.

An unwelcoming jolt of electricity surged through her systems, surprising her more than hurting her. She still screamed and in an attempt to get away, overbalanced and fell to the floor. The flashlight slipped away from her hands and went rolling down the tiled floor, even as she made a wild grab for it. Her attacker kicked it away.

Shadowstrike's hand dove into her subspace and she came up with a flash grenade, which she promptly lobbed at the attacker and then made a run for it, grabbing the flashlight as she went. It wasn't a very powerful flash grenade, but it did its job and a ragged howl still went up from the mech. The femme didn't hear it very well, as she was already at the top of the stairs. She half-fell down them, her feet slipping on the thin layer of dust that coated the steps.

"_Shade! Shade! What's going on?!_" Solarhaze was shouting through the comlink.

"_I got attacked! There's someone in here!_" Shadowstrike replied, now running down a hallway.

"_Are you okay? You didn't get hurt too bad, did you?_" Solarhaze asked.

"_No, just a little startled!_"Shadowstrike said, skidding around a corner. She burst through a set of doors where she then found herself in the reception area, where the front doors were located. "_Hold on! I'm on the ground floor! I'll open the blast doors!_"

In the nurse's station was a row of switches that controlled the protective functions of the med-center. The switch that activated the shields for the windows had been annihilated by what she guessed was gunfire, but the switch that opened and closed the blast doors was still there and with any luck, it still functioned. Shadowstrike flicked the switch and slowly, with a horrid grinding noise, the blast doors started to slide open. They did screech to a halt after a few seconds, but there was a large enough gap for Solarhaze to slip through. He had made short work of the lock on the plate-glass doors.

"Okay, so where's this guy who attacked you?" the yellow Valkyrie demanded to know, marching over to her. "Where did he hit you? Let me see--"

"Stop that!" Shadowstrike slapped his hand away. "Primus, you're worse than my brother."

"Where is he?" Solarhaze demanded again, practically looming over her.

"He's up the stairs." Shadowstrike replied. "Which are through that doorway and straight down the hall." she added upon seeing the questioning expression.

Placing himself firmly in the lead, Solarhaze went through the swinging doors, his pulse rifle in his right hand with its barrel pointing at the ceiling. He had gotten flicked enough times for disobeying that little safety rule that now he never forgot it. Shadowstrike removed a collapsible bo-staff from her subspace and extended one side of it so she had something like a baton. It would be close quarters fighting in here and while she didn't mind accidentally hitting Solarhaze in the heat of the moment, she wasn't really planning on doing him injury. Losing the upper hand in any battle wouldn't do her any good. She could be easily overpowered if she was careless.

The flashlight beams alighted on the stairs and the two jets stared up into the darkness.

"This the place?" Solarhaze asked in a whisper.

Shadowstrike nodded.

They didn't even get a foot on the first step before the attacking mech from earlier came barreling out of the darkness at them.

* * *


	25. Chpt24: Clearing Skies

**A/N:** This is an honest-to-Primus update. A real chapter and everything. That said, you may want to check on the previous chapter, because it is also shiny and brand-new. Remember that sneak peek? It ain't a sneak peek no more! It's all grown up!

If you have read the previous chapter, I must reiterate. Please no stabbity-death upon original characters. I am going to need them later.

**Disclaimer:** The **concept **of _Transformers_, among other things, belongs to HasTak and some other people. All the **characters** introduced here are completely original and thus belong to me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Four: Clearing Skies

* * *

The mech barreled down the stairs straight at them, brandishing a sparking electro-magnetic rod over his head (that explained the electricity that Shadowstrike had been hit with) and his voice cut out twice in the middle of the ragged battle cry. It sounded more like he was scraping at his vocal processor with the tines of a rusty fork.

Solarhaze met the newcomer head on, his considerably larger bulk slamming hard into the mech. There was an ugly crunching sound and the oncoming mech stumbled sideways. Solarhaze gave him a push to help gravity along and the mech toppled down the last five stairs. He crumpled into a heap at the bottom with the EMR still in his grip.

"Murk! Get 'im!" Solarhaze yelled, whipping around and bounding back down the stairs. The mech recoiled from the yellow Valkyrie's approach, struggling to get back to his feet, but only succeeded in backing into the wall. Solarhaze thrust his rifle out.

But Shadowstrike hadn't moved yet. Now that the mech wasn't coming at her from behind and in the total darkness, she saw something that she hadn't noticed earlier. She flung a hand out and grabbed Solarhaze's elbow.

"Wait! Wait a klik!" the femme commanded, pulling him back. Solarhaze jerked his arm away.

"What?" he asked, confused. He did not see what the black-and-silver Trinity jet did.

"Don't attack him." Shadowstrike ordered.

"What?!"

"Look at him!" Shadowstrike nodded down to the mech, who was eyeing them warily. "Does he look like he's in any condition to start a fight?

"But he attacked you!" Solarhaze protested.

"I probably scared the slag outta him." Shadowstrike said, pulling on his arm. "He's in stage-two energon deprivation, Solarhaze. I don't know how long he's been here, but he's starving. He probably thought he was protecting himself and whatever supplies he has."

Solarhaze frowned and shone the beam directly onto the mech. The mech recoiled from the beam of light, turning his head away but that was the amount of his movement. The yellow Valkyrie turned back to Shadowstrike.

"How can you tell?" he wondered.

"Stage two is characterized by a white, runny fluid coming from the optics and the extremities returning to protoform gray." Shadowstrike replied. In the light, she could tell that the mech had both symptoms. The black and chrome metal around the hands and feet had already turned a flat, ugly gray and the white fluid had dried along the mech's faceplates.

Solarhaze took a second look. "How do you know that?"

"My guardians were medics. They worked here. That's how I know my way around." Shadowstrike replied. She pushed the other jet away from the ailing mech. "C'mon, give him some space."

She was acting like this mech was nothing more than a lost, scared petro-puppy. Solarhaze couldn't understand it. Part of him figured that it was just the femme mentality to protect the helpless, but really, they had a mission to do. They had come to get supplies for their medbay at the Compound. Not walk out of here with some mech who had been dug up from Primus only knows where.

Shadowstrike kneeled down in front of the grounder mech and looked him over for any other damage. He was dinged and scuffed up, but there was no sign of any major injuries. He was wearing battle-armor though; he had definitely been a fighter. But it was light, so he obviously hadn't been much of a fighter. He was black as well with traces of chrome at every joint and was rather long in the legs. His whole frame appeared designed to be swift. He was probably a fast sprinter and hard to catch. He also had a death grip on the EMR and he was eyeing the femme with an expression of strong distrust.

"We're not going to hurt you." Shadowstrike told him. "You startled us, that's all."

The mech made a coughing noise and stared pointedly at Solarhaze.

"Oh, Solarhaze is just a slag-head." Shadowstrike said with a smile. "Jumps without looking. Just ignore him."

"Hey, I'm standing right here."

"But we really don't want to hurt you." the femme assured the black mech. "We just came here to pick up some supplies. We had no idea you were here too. So maybe you could let us get on our way--"

Solarhaze shot forward and seized the black mech by the shoulders, hauling him right off the floor.

"Alright you slagger! What do you want?!" Solarhaze interrogated harshly, shaking the black mech rather needlessly. "What are you?! What's your alignment?! Autobot?! Decepticon?! Neutral?! C'mon, answer me!"

"Buttercup! Stop it! For Primus's sake, put him down!" Shadowstrike snapped angrily. "He could be way more damaged than he looks!"

"He could be the enemy!" Solarhaze protested. "If we're going to do this questioning thing, then we should do it right!"

The black mech had had just about enough of this and he kicked the yellow Valkyrie with one long leg. Solarhaze let out a surprised yelp and dropped him. The black mech tossed aside the EMR (it had been low on power anyways) and a short blade slid out of a shallow compartment on his right forearm. It extended out to its full length -- nearly as long as his arm -- and he lunged at Solarhaze again.

"See!" Solarhaze dodged the swipe. It was clumsy and sluggish. "He's trying to kill me! He's gotta be a Decepticon!"

Evidently, that was quite the wrong thing to say. The black mech's next attack was considerably faster than the last one and the titanium blade scored a hit along Solarhaze's chassis. But the hit was a glancing one and it left nothing more than a scrape on the battle armor. It certainly did not change Solarhaze's opinion any.

"Stop it!" Shadowstrike shouted. "Stop it or you'll hurt yourself even more!"

She leapt on the black mech's back and hooked her arms around his neck. The black mech let out a wordless snarl at this and shoved himself backwards into the wall. Shadowstrike took the brunt of the blow and let out a grunt of pain, but she did not let up her grip. He was just scared, she reminded herself. Scared and desperate to protect what little he had. Now if they could just get him to calm down enough to start _talking_...

Words were infinitely better than guns.

"Hey! Leave her alone you slagging 'Con!" Solarhaze shouted angrily.

He jumped forward again to Shadowstrike's defense, shoving the black mech's sword arm aside. But the mech still had one arm that he wasn't using. Keeping Shadowstrike pinned between himself and the wall, the mech's other arm flashed out and his graying fingers wrapped around Solarhaze's neck. The yellow Valkyrie froze as the black mech started to squeeze.

Solarhaze stayed absolutely still and with good reason. The black mech was squeezing hard enough to compress his vocal processor; an act that usually rendered the victim with minor speaking difficulties. If the black mech pressed down any harder, he could rupture the energon lines that fed into the CPU and/or damage the spinal relays.

Optics of a washed-out blue glared heatedly at the jet and Solarhaze was sure that if looks could kill, he would be dead already. The black mech opened his mouth and in a stuttering, rasping voice, he said:

"I am n-not a De-cept-ticon..."

"You're acting like one." Solarhaze retorted with narrow optics and a thin voice.

"Buttercup, shut it!" Shadowstrike hissed. She was in an uncomfortable position back here and she didn't want to be stuck in it any longer than necessary.

"Your f-friend ha-as more s-sense than you do-o." the black mech said shakily. "Ma-aybe you sh-should li-listen to h-her."

"Yes, please." Shadowstrike put in instantly. "Solarhaze, put your slagging gun down so we can all talk about this like civilized mechs. Please." she added for good measure.

Slowly, never taking his optics off the black mech, Solarhaze leaned down as much as he could and placed his pulse rifle on the floor. Then he straightened up and pushed it away with one foot. The black mech released his grip on the jet's neck and slowly came away from the wall. Shadowstrike unhooked her arms and dropped back to the floor. She moved to the side, picking up her dropped bo-staff. She didn't put it away, but kept it out on the off-chance that the black mech was going to try something stupid again.

"Okay, we'll keep this simple." the femme said. She touched a hand to her chassis. "My name is Shadowstrike and my comrade over there is Solarhaze. You can call him 'Buttercup', if you want."

The mech in question scowled.

"We're from the Neutral faction; a team that's still stationed here in Iacon." Shadowstrike went on. "We're on a run for medical supplies and we're expected to report in to our commanding officer in another joor. And you are?..." she added promptingly.

"I'm-- m-malfunctioni-ing." the black mech said. "My f-files are c-corrupt-ted. Old m-memory files are ina-acessab-ble. Desi-ignation-- f-faction, a-and funct-tion unkn-nown."

"Your vocalizer's all fritzy too." Solarhaze muttered. It was difficult to say whether or not he meant to be heard.

"Buttercup." Shadowstrike shot him a warning glare and then she turned back to the black mech. "That complicates things. What can you remember?"

The black mech's brow furrowed in thought.

"S-Stasis-pod." he replied at length.

"You woke up in a stasis-pod." Shadowstrike elaborated. She knew all about stasis-pods from her guardians. They were meant to sustain mechs who experienced so much damage that they went into full-system shut-down. Essentially, life-support that would keep the mech in stasis-lock for an indefinite period of time until repairs had been completed. Assuming that there was no one else hiding out in the med-center, this mech must have woken up on his own after his self-regenerative system had finished repairing whatever damage he had taken. That at least explained why he didn't appear to be damaged.

But it didn't explain why he couldn't access his old memory files.

"Okay, I'm going to contact our commander and we're going to get you out of here." Shadowstrike explained.

Solarhaze shot her a bewildered look. "We are?"

"Yes, we are." Shadowstrike said to him. She glanced back to the black mech. "Is that alright with you?"

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, for starters. We have a medic back at the base." Shadowstrike replied. "He can take a look at you and figure out what's wrong. He may not be qualified to fix it, but at least you'll know. Secondly, you need proper energon. I think you've been living off rations of stale wafers, because I know the staff kept those things around, but they can get pretty nasty after they've been sitting for a vorn or two."

The disgusted expression that appeared confirmed Shadowstrike's suspicion. A generally haggard overall appearance often accompanied second-stage energon deprivation, so the black mech looked worse than he probably felt at the moment. Rust was starting to eat into bits of his frame and there were stress fractures all up his arms and chassis; signs of metal fatigue. He wasn't getting anywhere near enough energon in his system. Stale wafers didn't have a long shelf-life either.

"So... Do you agree to the idea?" Shadowstrike asked, a bit tentative.

The black mech didn't seem to like the idea very much. He frowned, even though it seemed to take a great deal of concentration to pull it off. His brows pinched together and the washed-out optics narrowed, either in suspicion or thought. He knew nothing of the world since his awakening; roughly six months prior, by his count. The med-center had been abandoned long before then, if the dust and cobwebs and the disturbingly high population anticmos spiders in the basement were any indication. He didn't know why the sky looked so foul or why the city was so empty. He didn't know why he kept expecting to hear screams and the rapid discharge of energy weapons echoing in the empty streets.

Frankly, he didn't know anything. Not even his own name.

That had stopped bothering him a while ago and he wasn't sure if that was a very good thing.

"I d-don't thi-ink I have much of a choi-oice." the black mech said at last. The titanium blade retracted back to its storage length and was returned to the shallow compartment on the forearm.

"Great!" Shadowstrike grinned. "Just let me-- Hey!"

Solarhaze had pulled her aside.

"Can we talk a moment?" he asked, turning his back towards the black mech. "Just for a moment?"

"What is it?" Shadowstrike inquired resignedly.

"What are you doing? We don't even know if he's a Neutral, never mind the other two factions." Solarhaze hissed, trying to cut the other mech out of the conversation as much as possible. "Didn't you hear him? He's a walking malfunction!"

"So he can't access his memory banks, whatever. I don't think he's a Decepticon at all. He said he wasn't." Shadowstrike pointed out. "Secondly, this is Iacon. Former Autobot base. What would a Decepticon be doing in an _Autobot_ medical center?"

"Maybe he's a prisoner!"

"A prisoner they forgot about and left to rust in a stasis-pod?"

"It could happen."

"You're being ridiculous."

"No, I'm being careful." Solarhaze corrected. "Cybertron isn't safe anymore and we don't know what kind of glitched-up slaggers are out there. For all we know, this is actually a brilliant plan laid out by another Neutral team in order to infiltrate the Compound and steal all our supplies and the frequency to the one satellite we were able to hack into."

Shadowstrike blinked.

"You really think that?"

"Yes. I do."

"I'm not really sure they would have the resources to pull it off. And anyways, no other team has been near the Compound in months, so we're not bugged." the black-silver jet argued. "And if we're not bugged, then how did they know that we were planning to raid the med-center?"

"Maybe they bugged us months ago!" Solarhaze argued back. "My point is, I don't like the fact that this guy comes barreling out of nowhere with no clue who he is, where he is, or what's going on and then he conveniently decides to surrender to us just because we have a medic who could fix him! I smell a retro-rat!"

"I think you're overreacting." Shadowstrike stated.

"I think you're under-reacting." Solarhaze shot back. "This can't be what it looks like."

"Hey, maybe this **is** exactly what it looks like." Shadowstrike suggested, shrugging vaguely. "I admit we don't know what side he's on, but if you really think about it, we're just one team and we're strapped for supplies as it is. And I don't think the other teams are doing much better."

"Get to the point." Solarhaze snapped.

"The point. I sincerely doubt that any of the other teams would really be willing to spare a good fighter like him for the three months it takes just to reach the second stage just so the disguise can be convincing." Shadowstrike explained. "They would not sacrifice one of their own when the daemons and the Sweeps are _everywhere_!"

Solarhaze still looked mighty skeptical.

Shadowstrike sighed. "If it makes you feel better, we'll talk to Nebula and we'll talk to Crosswind and we'll go through all the proper channels, okay?"

"Okay..." Solarhaze conceded. "But -- I still don't like it."

* * *

"'The skies begin to clears/And bright light takes to wing/Out of the darkness deep/A spark begins to sing''" Nebula mumbled, absently picking at some scum and other things that had gotten caught between his finger joints. "'But the horizon still is bleak/The sky like fragile glass/'Ware, for the true danger--'"

"'Has not yet come to pass.'" cut in another voice; a familiar voice that wasn't entirely unwelcome.

Nebula turned in time to see a familiar burnished red Deltoid jet half-slithered over the railing of the overpass with a sack slung over the shoulder. The contents of the sack clinked gently as the jet dropped down to the road in a crouch.

"That's _The Calm Before the Storm_, right?" Crosswind asked with a faint grin.

"Dates as far back as the Quintession war." Nebula replied, flicking splinter of metal away. "You want something?"

"No, I just heard you being gloomy and decided to have a look." Crosswind said, sitting down beside his old friend. "That is a very depressing bit of poetry."

"I like it. Fits the mood." Nebula said grumpily.

Crosswind leaned over and snatched the binoviewers away. He adjusted the focus and aimed it at the med-center.

"I take it they're still in there?" he asked.

"Yep. Haven't heard anything yet, so I guess there's no problem." Nebula replied. "They argued a bit, but I got them back in line no problem. Still, dealing with those two is like trying to herd cyber-cats."

"It takes patience and practice." Crosswind said, nodding in agreement. "Did you know the Sweeps are off their regular patrol routes again?"

"Yeah, had a battalion of them pass this way earlier." Nebula said. He crossed his arms. "I really don't like it. There isn't a lot that can knock those slaggers off their routine."

"It could just be a collapsed building. Something that's blocking off their normal route." Crosswind pointed out. He looked thoughtful. "But in the past, they have gone right over the rubble. This isn't their normal behavior..."

"See, everything's falling apart!" Nebula groaned. The Tetra-jet let out a gusty sigh. "What happened to us 'Wind?"

"That sounds like a rhetorical question." Crosswind commented. He was pawing through the sack, looking for something.

"Look at us. We both fought in the Second War and got to help with the heavy-duty clean-up afterwards." Nebula went on. "The Senate liked us so much that we got shiny medals of commendation, honorary military ranks -- I mean, we're both First Lieutenants -- and then they shunted us sideways to the Flight Academy so we could teach the next generation of fliers for the future of the Cybertron Aerial Combat Force. And then, some five hundred vorns later... **BAM!**"

When Nebula punched his hand into his fist, Crosswind flinched despite himself.

"War comes crashing down on us again. Things slag up, rest of our team goes the way of the mecha-dodo and we're reduced to lurkin' in the shadows and scrounging for every drop of energon, hoping we don't meet a messy end." Nebula let out another sigh, just as heavy as the first. "I liked life better when I chasing the rusty little glitches back into their dorms before curfew."

"Strictly speaking, you're still chasing some rusty little glitches around." Crosswind said patiently. "I would like to refer you back to Buttercup. I believe that he still makes it fun."

"Buttercup's growing a spine." Nebula spat. "He's more fun to tease when he's being all uppity and snitty. Now he's just trying to throw around weight that he doesn't have."

"So... Is there anything else wrong?" the Deltoid jet asked carefully.

"Oh no, nothing's wrong. Not a thing." Nebula said airily, waving a hand. "It's just that we're stuck in Iacon, we're low on energon and I haven't had a good drink in ages. Our transport-skid lost all its stabilizers from running the Yirui Pass -- which I said was a bad idea!-- and we get daemons on our afts every orn. No one has a clue how the war's progressing, we can't fly unless we want to end up like Counterglow, and the slagging Sweeps can't even stick to their normal schedules! Everything is just fine, Crosswind! Where the frag didja get the idea that something was wrong?!"

"You've been talking in your recharge again." Crosswind answered dully.

"Never ask me that question again. You know what the answer will be." Nebula said, scowling. "There will be nothing wrong when I finally see every last single stinkin' 'Con fall over dead. I'll be happier then."

"However, I might be able to help you out on the part about a good drink." Crosswind went on. He reached into the sack that he had been toting all this way and fished out a bottle of high-grade, which he promptly offered to Nebula. The multi-hued Tetrahedron jet just snorted at it.

"Don't think you can bribe me with that!" he said, laughing. "You're making me laugh 'Wind! High-grade does not-- Is that...?" Nebula examined the bottle's label very closely and after a moment, there was a look of awe on his face. "This is vintage stuff... Holy Primus, this came from the Crystal City... Where did you find it?"

"Do you want it or not?" Crosswind asked, sloshing the liquid back and forth.

Nebula whimpered a little. He had been fully sober since the AllSpark had been launched over a vorn ago, but fine high-grade would forever remain his biggest weakness. Crosswind knew that it wasn't nice to exploit this weakness, but the high-grade would do wonders in mellowing out the Tetra-jet.

"C'mon Nebula, you'll feel better." the burnished red Deltoid jet taunted. "We'll share the bottle and you can rant to me about the five little buggers we tried to turn into decent soldiers."

"And failed." Nebula said with a shrug, grabbing the bottle without a klik's more hesitation. "Ah well. Only live once and we're too close to dying."

He twisted the cap off and deeply inhaled the scent of vintage, well-aged high-grade. He nearly melted into a puddle of slag right then and there and then he proceeded to take a long pull from the bottle.

"Ooh, that's good stuff." he breathed, wiping a little bit of fluid from his optics. He hadn't had any high-grade -- cheap or excellent -- in far too long. He took another pull before he remembered to offer the bottle to his friend. The Deltoid only took a small sip before he handed it back.

"Actually, I'm glad I caught up with you. I've had an idea that I've wanted to run by your processor." Crosswind said quietly.

"Your ideas haven't been turning out very well lately, you know." Nebula pointed out.

"I'm aware of that." Crosswind muttered.

"Well... Let's hear it." Nebula said, leaning back a bit. "I'll decide whether it a good idea that'll keep the fires off our afts or one that's just gonna slag us over."

"Your faith in my tactical abilities is astounding." Crosswind stated flatly. "Alright, my idea. For the last couple of orns, I've been toying with the thought of leaving Cybertron."

Most surprisingly to Crosswind, Nebula did **not** spew vintage high-grade five feet from his body and buckle over laughing at the red jet; as was the reaction Crosswind often got after naming his more incredulous suggestions. Instead, he held the mouthful for a moment and then swallowed it down, looking pensive and maybe slightly disturbed.

"Why?" he asked at length.

"You're questioning me 'why'?" Crosswind asked incredulously. "Primus, Nebula. I thought it would have been obvious. Look around us." He made a wide, sweeping gesture with one hand. "The planet is dying and the longer we stay here, the more chance we have of dying with it. The energon plants no longer function, the whole of Iacon has been overrun by Sweeps and daemons and every breem we spend outside is another breem we choke up our intakes. The atmosphere alone is capable of killing us; we've seen that."

"Don't remind me." Nebula snapped, not about to call up old memories of an old wing-mate.

"But are you seeing my point?" Crosswind asked impatiently. "Places like Dnaleri and Sasnak were have literally fallen into the core; none of us have never _seen_ sinkholes so large before. Sooner or later, Iacon is going to follow. Without the AllSpark, Cybertron can't sustain itself. We have got to get off of here before the entire planet collapses in on itself."

"Do you really think that could happen?" Nebula asked flatly. He sounded vaguely annoyed, but it was hard to tell. The high-grade was mellowing him out, which was exactly what Crosswind had intended.

"It's happening now. The planet is dying even as we sit here. It's even starting to give way to metal fatigue." the red Deltoid said grimly.

Nebula raised an extremely skeptical browridge. In demonstration, Crosswind dug two fingers into a small crack on the road beside him and pulled hard. There was an awful screeching noise and he raised his hand, bringing with it a piece of sheet metal about four inches long. He waved it in front of the wide optics of the multi-hued Tetra-jet, letting him look at it for a few kliks before he tossed it aside.

"I have no intention of dying with it." Crosswind finished.

Nebula was silent for a long moment, staring at the distant horizon. Crosswind held his breath, so to speak. It wasn't that he couldn't make his plan work without Nebula. The kids would listen to either one of them, since Solarhaze, Overcast, Counterglow and Breakstream had all been students of theirs before the war had erupted. Not Shadowstrike, though. She had been much too young back then.

They had all been responsible for Shadowstrike's welfare ever since Counterglow had found her wandering the fringe of the campus a few weeks removed from the official beginning of the war. Her guardians had been presumably lost in the Iacon Blitz like many others or shortly thereafter. She had found her way down to the Flight Academy in search of her older brother. Unfortunately, by the time she had arrived, a large majority of the students had already left; whether to seek out their own families or in the company of the Lord High Protector. Those latter mechs had been drafted into military service -- Crosswind still wondered if those students had ever known what they had been getting themselves into.

To top it off, Shadowstrike had never spoken the name of her brother, leaving them to take wild guesses that probably fell far short of the mark. She had only been seven vorns old back then and rather short on common sense. But since they had not about to let that young, fragile-looking femme go back out into a now-dangerous world on her own, they had taken her in and kept an optic on her ever since.

But the task of leaving Cybertron would be a lot easier if Crosswind had Nebula's cooperation on the matter.

However, before Nebula could formulate a proper response to the insanity Crosswind was suggesting, his comlink buzzed.

"What?" he asked brusquely. "This had better be an emergency."

Crosswind surreptitiously tapped into the frequency.

"_Hello to you too, Nebula._" Shadowstrike said in an annoyed tone.

"Shadow, I told you only to contact me if it's an emergency." Nebula said, sighing and pinching the metal between his optics.

"_I'm not sure if it qualifies as an emergency, but we decided to ask you anyways._"Shadowstrike replied. She sounded like she was straining to be patient."_When I got inside the med-center -- so I could open up the blast doors and let Buttercup inside._" she added quickly. "_I got jumped by another mech._"

She had barely finished when Nebula went: "_WHAT_?!!"

"Describe this mech for me." Crosswind jumped in swiftly. There was a datapad in his subspace and he pulled it out, along with a stylus.

"_Wha-- Crosswind? When did you--_"

"What's his faction?"

"_Oh-- He doesn't know._"

Crosswind and Nebula exchanged looks.

"How could he not know?" the red Deltoid inquired.

"_He's been locked in a stasis-pod for a while now and he only got out maybe four months ago, because he's already in second-stage energon deprivation. He says he's malfunctioning and can't access his old memory files._" Shadowstrike explained. "_But we think--_"There was the faint sound of Solarhaze in the background. "_Okay, _**I**_ think he might be an Autobot. I mean, this is an Autobot med-center and I just don't think they would leave a Decepticon in here without some kind of guard._"

"Unless that mech **is** the guard and the Decepticon is running loose somewhere." Crosswind reasoned grimly. On the datapad, he pulled up a list of Autobot personnel that he had quietly downloaded ages ago without the faction's knowledge.

"_Crosswind, please don't creep me out like that._" Shadowstrike said in a strangely high-pitched voice.

"It's a reasonable suggestion; keep your guard up." Crosswind recommended. "What do you think his function is?"

"_I'd say Special Ops, because he's wearing light battle armor and he's got really long legs. Best guess, he's a scout._" Shadowstrike answered thoughtfully. "_But he definitely knows how to fight. I mean, the guy can barely stand up as it is, but he brought Solarhaze to a halt with just one hand. Around his neck, mind you._"

"That would do it." Crosswind agreed. He isolated a list of Special Ops officers, past and present as he had last known it.

"The skies over Iacon are clearing." Nebula commented, almost absently.

"Nebula, not now." Crosswind murmured, not interested in hearing his old friend recite depressing poetry. "Alright Shadow, tell me--"

"Crosswind, look." Nebula interrupted bluntly. He put his hand on Crosswind's head and pulled it back, forcing the red jet to look up. What he saw automatically made him feel worse.

The sky was normally disgusting just to look at. It was usually an ugly yellowish, dark gray and it smelled like sulfur; the result of vorns of pollution. It was hazardous to fly in and the only reason they remained grounded. If in the rare event the skies were clear, they could usually see the unfamiliar stars of whatever part of space Cybertron had drifted in to and it reminded them that the planet was still somewhere, at least. That they hadn't dropped off the edge of the universe yet. But usually, the moment of clear skies never lasted long and the pollution would quickly rush back into place and they would be cut off once more.

This time, the polluted clouds were being blown away in the same manner that a vacuum cleaner sucks up dirt and dust. It happened quickly, revealing strange, alien constellations etched up in the blackness.

"Shadowstrike, all three of you need to get out of there and return to the Compound." Crosswind instructed, unable to take his optics off the clearing sky.

"_What? Why? What's going on?_" Shadowstrike asked, worried by his tone.

"The skies are clearing."

"_That's bad?_"

"Yes. It means we're getting close to something with a powerful gravitational pull. Something strong enough to pull the pollution away with very little effort. A red super-giant or perhaps a black hole." Crosswind replied. "Tell Solarhaze that I understand if he has any reservations about the strange mech, but we are not Decepticons and we are not going to leave him behind when he obviously needs help. Take him back to the Compound with you."

"_But the supplies--_" Shadowstrike started.

"Slag the supplies! Just get out!" Crosswind shouted. Shadowstrike's comlink went off abruptly with a click. Nebula stared at his old friend with an expression of surprise. Then he thrust the high-grade towards the red jet.

"I think you need this more than I do." he said. Crosswind swiped the bottle and downed the rest of the contents without pause.

"We need to double-time it back. We have to send the signal out." the Deltoid said.

Nebula frowned. "What signal?"

"A few months ago, some of the other Neutral team leaders and I came to an agreement. If we encountered something that could pose a serious threat to Cybertron's existence, we would broadcast a signal to each other that carried a simple instruction." Crosswind explained.

"And what is this simple instruction?" Nebula asked. Even as he did, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Crosswind gave a ghastly smile and Nebula's fears were confirmed.

"To abandon ship."


	26. Chpt25: The Little Red Button

**A/N:** Well, I'm glad the OCs have been fairly well-received. I mean, I haven't gotten any complaints, so I'm assuming that people don't mind them. Don't worry, we'll be getting back to the rapidly-becoming-neurotic shuttle gang in another chapter or so. The OCs are just here to ensure the survival of the plot.

And they're quickly taking on lives of their own. Blast.

**Disclaimer:** The **concept **of _Transformers_, among other things, belongs to HasTak and some other people. All the **characters** introduced here are completely original and thus belong to me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Little Red Button

* * *

It felt like ages had passed before Nebula responded to that. When he did, he stated the exact thought that was on his mind.

"You are completely fragged in the processors."

He said this in such an utterly matter-of-fact voice that it was a full breem before Crosswind could think up a reply. Maybe he really was fragged in the processors.

"I am not--"

"Yes you are. _Leave_ Cybertron?" Nebula shook his head, his expression nothing short of skeptical. He was probably doubting the plan would even hold together. "Aren't you the one who said that we should stay behind and try to rebuild so that if the Autobots won, they would have something to come back to?"

But Crosswind was quickly becoming impatient. If his fears about a black hole or a red giant were true, then there would be a lot more at stake than just Cybertron's quickly diminishing future.

"Nebula, I'm fully aware of what I said, but I think that we really need to take our own lives into consideration--"

"So we're at self-preservation now, are we?" Nebula cut in.

"Yes." Crosswind admitted. "In the end, it's our lives--"

"I don't recall you being the selfish type." Nebula butted in again.

"Will you quit interrupting me?!" Crosswind snapped. He didn't like being interrupted when he was trying to get a point across. Nebula looked suitably chastised and he made a 'go-on' gesture with one hand. The burnished red Deltoid huffed and continued to make his point.

"As I was saying, in the end, it's our lives -- and **not** the continued existence of our home planet -- that matter the most. If **we're** alive, then the chances of us being able to rebuild somewhere else are automatically doubled."

"Yeah, if we can even live long enough to start rebuilding." Nebula groused. He peered into the bottle of high-grade and make a snorting noise when he saw that it was all gone. He threw the bottle away.

"What is it with you and being negative lately?" Crosswind asked. He was starting to feel real grumpy.

"Look, I'm just trying to stay realistic." Nebula said in a reasonable tone of voice. "Ever since this slagging war started, Cybertron's hopes for a future has lain in the hands of the femmes, Optimus Prime, Primus and the AllSpark. Oh, and when I say 'Cybertron', I mean the planet as well as every slagging person to have ever come from this place." he added pointedly. "If you believe the old Covenant -- and, I might add, there's a reason they don't exist anymore -- then Primus has only shown his almighty aft once in our entire history."

He held his hand, one finger extended.

"The femmes were nearly massacred and the rest are hiding out somewhere. They're not gonna come out until Megatron's slagging head turns up on their slagging doorstep wrapped up in a neat little package with a pretty pink bow." he went on, holding up another finger. "Then we lost the AllSpark and **then** we lost Prime because he went to chase after a delusional Megatron who was after the AllSpark. Prime could be _dead_, for all we know." He scowled. "You'll have to forgive me for not feeling overwhelmingly optimistic at the moment."

When put that way, it did sound rather bleak, but Crosswind couldn't help but feel that Nebula was missing the point somewhere.

"Besides, you're spouting off logic that sounds disturbingly familiar." Nebula muttered dryly. "In fact, I think once heard some--"

"I'm **also** aware of the source, but nonetheless, it applies to this situation." Crosswind interrupted. "It may be harsh. It may be unfair. It may be the stupidest thing we have ever done or will **ever** do, but I think in another joor..." He glanced heavenwards at the clearing sky. "We're not going to have much of a choice."

Nebula looked up as well and then down, shaking his head.

"Alright. I give up." he said, giving a few helpless sniggers. "I've still got a lot of life left, so I might as well live it."

Crosswind patted his shoulder. "It wasn't like I was going to leave you behind anyways." Then he tapped his comm. "Overcast!"

"_Yessir?_"

"Remember the little red button on the board that I told you should never, ever be pressed?"

"_Yessir, would you like me to push it?_"

"Yes. Push the little red button."

* * *

Shadowstrike's surprised jerk and the subsequent click of her comlink cutting out told Solarhaze enough. But it did not explain the way Shadowstrike hurried back upstairs and back to the window she had slithered in through. Glancing warily at the black mech, Solarhaze followed quickly.

"What's going on? What did Nebula say?" the yellow Valkyrie asked.

"Nebula didn't say anything. It was Crosswind." Shadowstrike replied. She kneeled down in front of the hole in the window covering and looked out. She made a face. "He was right. The sky is clearing up."

"What? Really? Lemme see." Solarhaze made to push her aside, but Shadowstrike had already gotten back to her feet.

"He said it's a bad thing." the Trinity-jet stated. "He said we could be getting close to a black hole or a super giant; if it's sucking away the pollution. He said 'slag the supplies'; all three of us have to go back to the Compound."

"What? Why?! Does he even know about the weirdo we found?!" Solarhaze asked, his voice touching on hysteria.

"Yes, he does. But Crosswind said -- and I quote -- 'we are not Decepticons and we are not going to leave him behind when he obviously needs help'." Shadowstrike replied.

"But-- His faction--" the yellow Valkyrie protested.

"I'm sorry, Solarhaze. But this isn't our decision to make. We gotta take him back to the Compound." Shadowstrike said with a shrug. Admittedly, she didn't like it much either, but voicing her opinion on the situation would do nothing more than give Solarhaze ammunition and she didn't feel like making his ego bigger.

Plus, she didn't want to admit to herself that she could agree with him on something.

"And Crosswind knows you don't like it, but I refer you back to the whole 'we're not Decepticons' thing." she added.

She turned to head back down the stairs.

Solarhaze scowled and shouted:

"Doesn't mean I have to li--"

"I _know_! Now you're just repeating yourself!"

"Well, maybe you're not getting it!"

"Maybe it's **you**!" came the retort.

Solarhaze snorted loudly and threw up his hands in a gesture resembling capitulation coupled with exasperation. At times, Shadowstrike really reminded him of someone that he must have known once upon a time, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember who that person could possibly be. He wanted to say that she reminded him of an old classmate, but it was hard to say for certain. A lot of his memories of his old classmates from before the war had gone all fuzzy with time.

The black mech was still waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, but he had sat down; his head bowed between his knees. Concerned by this, Shadowstrike kneeled down next him.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, hesitantly touching his shoulder with two light fingers. Up close, he looked terrible.

"I'm t-tired..." the black mech said quietly.

Shadowstrike's light touch became a firm, reassuring grip.

"Hey, you made it this far on your own, but now you've got us." she said encouragingly. "So you can't give up. Everything'll be fine soon, promise."

The black mech looked up at her, blinking a few times. He looked slightly confused before a faint smile found its way onto his weary, graying features.

"Th-Thank you."

"You're welcome." Shadowstrike stood up and then extended her hand outwards to him. "C'mon. You're getting out of here with us. Orders from the top."

The black mech took the offered hand and got hauled back to his feet as Solarhaze stomped his way down the last few stairs. He fixed the black mech with a distrustful glare and then picked up his previously discarded rifle. He jabbed it in the direction of the mech.

"You walk in front." he ordered. "I'm not giving you the chance to stab me in the back. Because any Decepticon would do that."

"He's not a Decepticon." Shadowstrike hissed, swiftly becoming annoyed again.

"I don't care." Solarhaze hissed back. "Start walking!" he snapped at the black mech.

Shrugging helplessly -- he supposed he couldn't fault the yellow Valkyrie for being overly cautious since he himself didn't even know who he was -- the black mech started walking towards the reception area with a limping gait. Or at least, he hoped that he was going in the right direction. He hadn't been on the ground floor after something big and powerful had nearly broken through the wall. Afraid to be caught by whatever was out there, he had stayed on every other floor besides the ground floor.

Shadowstrike walked to the side, halfway between Solarhaze and the black mech, keeping a sharp optic on the former. It was her own team-mate that she didn't trust not to do something stupid that he might regret. The black mech felt that the femme was trying to make a point by her position in this little formation.

Solarhaze grumbled under his breath the whole way. Shadowstrike pretended that she couldn't hear him because it was better that way.

One at a time, they squeezed their way through the exit and came out under the awning of the med-center. They peered warily through the gloom, the two jets searching for any sign of the Sweeps or the daemons' as both were an ever-present danger. Worse now that the Sweeps were no longer entirely predictable in their movements.

Solarhaze ducked out from underneath the awning and walked into the street. He wanted to see this whole 'sky-is-clearing' thing with his own optics. It wasn't that he didn't trust Shadowstrike, but she had a small habit of lying to him when it was convenient to do so. He looked up and was momentarily silenced by the sight of stars looming overhead through the blackness. It was a sight he hadn't seen in-- In-- Well, quite a long time, clearly. He couldn't recall an exact date.

"It would be beautiful if Crosswind hadn't implied that we could die from whatever's causing it." Shadowstrike muttered from nearby.

"Oh, lighten up Haze." Solarhaze shot back. He looked towards the black mech. "What do you think of it, Stilts?"

"Stilts?!" Shadowstrike was indignant on the black mech's behalf. She rammed her elbow into a gap underneath the battle armor and made the yellow jet flinch. "Buttercup! That was just rude!"

"Well, he doesn't have a name!" Solarhaze pointed out, shrugging. "We gotta call him something other than 'hey you'."

"I know, but just to slap a name on him like that." Shadowstrike said with a sort of snort. She looked over at their foundling to see what he thought of the unexpected christening.

The black mech was staring at the ruined buildings around him, but for an entirely different reason. Somewhere deep in his processors, he knew that he had seen this place before. And not just out the windows of the med-center. He had seen it before in a different light, a different time. His locked-away memories were teasing him; skirting just out of his grasp whenever he tried to reach for them.

"It's Iacon."

The black mech lurched around, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. The two jets were staring at him; one with concern; the other looking just plain dubious.

"...What?" the mech wondered.

"It's Iacon. This city." Shadowstrike said again. She shrugged. "Well, it was. In happier days. The war took care of all the happier days. And the people. They're all gone now."

"What war? What happened here?" the black mech asked, bewildered. He had no idea that there had been any war. But there was something about this city that unsettled him; made him feel incredibly uneasy.

And there was something tickling at the barest edge of his weakened sensors. A strange signal that positively screamed 'danger'.

Shadowstrike was about to reply, but she thought she felt the ground shudder underneath her. And judging from the look on Solarhaze's face, she hadn't been imagining it.

"Get over here." she said to the black mech over a second tremor. "C'mon, now. Hurry."

The black mech wasn't able to take a step because a nightmare peered from around the corner, nostrils wide and saliva starting to drip from its jaws. A daemon. Possibly the same one from earlier. If it was, it had woken up and had discovered their scents, and then it had come to seek them out and rip them apart.

"Slag. Don't move. Don't anyone move." Shadowstrike instructed in a quiet voice, a hand having moved slightly to her side in a sort of blocking gesture.

The daemons operated well in the dark; having lived underneath the surface of Cybertron for countless generations. They were virtually blind in brighter lights and hunted their prey by sound and smell, but sound seemed to be the biggest tip-off when they hunted.

The massive bio-mechanoid sniffed at the air, its nostrils flaring as it honed in on their scents. Shadowstrike felt her wings quaking and she did her damndest not to let it show. She wasn't going to admit that she was scared of this thing. It was possible to kill them. She had seen it happen before, so she knew that they stood a chance at bringing it down.

Okay, so it took a lot of fire-power and a whole lot more luck, but there **was** a chance.

The ground gave another shudder and since life was obviously intent on becoming worse than it already was, a second daemon appeared from behind the med-center. The first daemon stiffened, a deep growl rising from the back of its throat. It eyeballed the second daemon sternly and growled louder, as though telling it to not horn in on its next meal.

"_So what do we do now?_" Solarhaze wondered.

"_Why are you asking me?_" Shadowstrike moaned internally. They were going to die here and it was going to be messy. This was definitely not how she had imagined herself going out.

Both the daemons took the opportunity lunge at the three mechs and they scattered out of the way. Instead of hitting their targets, the nasty creatures collided with each other. Hissing and snarling, they proceeded to claw at each other, tearing chunks out of one another's skin and rusting armor. Only the winner would get the right to have these mechs for lunch. The loser would probably be dead by the end of the fight.

"Quick! Before they remember we're here!" Shadowstrike gave Solarhaze a shove and the grounded fliers ran away, grabbing the black mech before he could really react to them moving, tripping slightly over his own feet. The black mech only had a few spare kliks to get his feet underneath him before he found himself being dragged along.

The ground shuddered and rocked underneath them, making running on the bomb-blasted ground more difficult than it was supposed to be. The two monsters going at each other certainly wasn't doing the ground any good. It shook and shuddered as the daemons ripped at each other, intent on reducing the other to scraps of flesh and metal.

There was a horrible cracking noise very close by. Shadowstrike looked down as she ran and saw a fissure about half an inch wide darting across their path and the black mech's hand tightened around her elbow. The fissure was becoming wider and wider, and there was nothing stopping it. Shadowstrike felt her flight programming starting to take over. She wanted to fly; to escape the danger that was rapidly forming behind them.

There was a tortured shriek of metal and the ground started to cave in. The three mechs were able to exchange one horrified look with each other before they lost their footing and fell screaming into the darkness far below.

* * *

Crosswind came to a halt so suddenly that Nebula walked into his back.

"Something wrong?" the multi-hued Tetra-jet asked.

"The ground is shaking." Crosswind commented in an absent tone.

Nebula paused and concentrated on the ground at his feet. He didn't feel it shaking-- No wait, yes he did. Earthquakes happened every now and again on the mass of land encompassed in the Canyon Ring Route because it was notoriously unstable, but they were few and far between. He also remembered one quake happening right before the Dnaleri sinkhole had appeared.

He looked over his wing.

"Uh... 'Wind?" Nebula tapped his old friend on the shoulder. "I was just thinking that this might be a good time to run."

Crosswind looked and then regretted it.

The buildings were collapsing like dominoes, throwing up great clouds of something. It was another sinkhole and it was rapidly coming for them.

The two jets turned and ran.

The real problem, though, was that the ground was collapsing faster than they could conceivably move on foot. Stress had been building up across the planet's surface for a while now and the AllSpark was not there to rejuvenate the alloy that made up the surface. It was simply losing its strength to support the weight of the buildings on top of it. Now that it had begun to fracture, the rest of the ground had simply called it quits on defying gravity and it had come crashing down.

"Aaarrggh! Slag, slag, slag! We're gonna die!"

"Slaggit! It's gaining!"

"I know! Keep running!"

"I am running, ya heap of bolts! Put that thing over your shoulders!"

"Don't tell me how I'm supposed to carry this!"

"You'll run faster! If you fall behind, I ain't rescuing your sorry aft!"

The roaring noise behind them rattled their bodies right down to their sparks and spurred the two grounded fliers to push themselves faster.

"Nebula, remind to never, **ever** do something like this with you again!" the red Deltoid growled, leaping over a chunk of building lying in the path and managing to stuff the sack into his subspace at the same time.

"Hah! You'd come with just to keep me out of trouble!" Nebula laughed, shooting a grin at his old friend. "Admit it Crosswind! I'd be de-- Yaaah!"

The ground vanished beneath his feet and he stumbled. Beside him, Crosswind lost his footing as well. They had failed to outrun the sinkhole. But instinct kicked in and their bodies reacted before their processors could. Gears clicked and whirred, and parts shifted, and not a moment too soon, two jets had taken to the air in desperation. Their thrusters shoved them upwards -- never mind the clearing polluted sky -- to escape the toppling towers.

"_I -- never want to do anything like that _**again**_._" Nebula said in a relieved/shocked tone once they had cleared the danger zone.

"_I told you that Iacon was going to collapse sooner or later._" Crosswind said with a sort of sneer. "_And you didn't believe me._"

"_I didn't say that._" Nebula countered defensively. He swept his scanners over the sinkhole. It was taking out most of the First District and starting on the Second. "_Primus, there's no fixing that._" He pulled his scanners up and checked the airspace around them for any sign of two familiar signatures and one unfamiliar one. As much as he scanned, he found nothing. "_How did we get into this mess?_"

"_Because you have a drinking problem._" Crosswind replied in a deadpan.

"_That I do, but I don't see how that pertains to this situation._" Nebula pointed out. "_The thing is, though, I'm not picking up Shadow or Solar anywhere._"

Crosswind frowned inwardly, but his alt-mode betrayed none of his emotions. All of the First District was gone by now; including the old Decagon, the med-center, the Towers, and even the overpass where they had been sitting earlier. The sinkhole had come to a halt halfway through the Third District, though bits of the landscape were still crumbling off. Judging from the radius, he calculated that the med-center had been close to the epicenter. He guess that Solarhaze and Shadowstrike had been caught off-guard by its sudden appearance; so caught that they hadn't had the time to transform. And with their foundling... They would have had to let him go in order to transform.

Neutrals killed only when it was utterly necessary. Strictly speaking, they were Autobots at spark.

"_Crosswind?_"

"_Yes?_"

"_Do you think they fell?_"

"_Yes._"

"_Slag._"

There was a moment of silence.

"_I'm starting to feel clogged._" Crosswind announced.

"_Me too._" Nebula agreed. "_What now?_"

"_Go back to the Compound and start loading up the _Vanguard_._" Crosswind said."_Overcast said he would try and figure out what we're heading towards._"

"_Are you going to look for the kids?_" Nebula asked, though he was certain that he knew what the answer would be.

"_As soon as I find them, we'll be on our way back. Have the _Vanguard_ prepped for departure in half a joor._" Crosswind instructed, just like the drill instructor that he had been back in the day.

"_We'll probably end up meeting you halfway. Good luck._" Nebula offered. His thrusters flared briefly and he banked sharply to his left, turning to the west where the Compound was located.

Crosswind watched his old friend leave and then banked to his right. He started to descend into the sinkhole, wary about what he was going to find down there. Like any flier, he normally avoided going underground. No flier liked having that much metal hanging over their heads. Metal could crush wings or permanently ground them, if it fell on them.

His intakes coughed out a puff of brown cloud.

He was starting to think that they should have left ages ago.

* * *

Shadowstrike only came around when she became aware of something poking hard into her side, in a tender spot under the armor. A vague groan escaped her vocalizer and she shook her head to get rid of the fuzziness. She felt like she had been hit by-- by a ton of something. Maybe a tone of Valkyrie, if that blob of yellow strewn across her legs was any indication.

Her optics shifted into focus and she found herself staring at a still-unconscious Solarhaze. She remembered what happened. They had hit this metal chute thingie and had been sliding along on some crazy ride when Solarhaze had tried to slow himself down by activating his thrusters and-- ah yes. She must have blacked out then.

_Dammit Buttercup... Firing your thrusters will make you go in whatever your direction of travel is. What on Cybertron were you thinking?... _Shadowstrike thought, sitting up slowly and getting away from whatever it was poking her side. It was Solarhaze's wing-tip. He wasn't showing any of the usual signs of consciousness. _He'll be fine..._

Shadowstrike looked around and instantly got the feeling that they had fallen a lot further than her memories let on. It looked like they were lying on a walkway in a very old city. A very old, abandoned city. The air was somewhat stale, but it smelled relatively clean and there were breezes. She lifted a hand and held it flat, feeling the air whisk over it. Her wings twitched.

Oh, why not?

She wiggled out from underneath Solarhaze -- Primus, he was heavy -- and took a few running strides to the edge of the walkway, which dropped into a dark chasm. But that was all she needed. For the first time in about much too long, her body twisted through the almost unfamiliar transformation sequence; becoming the small, sleek and aerodynamic Trinity jet and she happily blasted a path all the way into the air, reveling in the feeling of flying again. The heavily polluted atmosphere had kept her grounded for too long.

With a small jolt, Shadowstrike realized that she didn't see that black, leggy mech anywhere. Had he fallen in with them? Or was he still up top? She cast her scanners out, searching for an unfamiliar energy signature. If he had fallen with them, then he would have landed nearby.

And then she spotted him, standing near the edge of the walkway some forty feet where she had been lying. Grudgingly, Shadowstrike dropped back to the walkway and transformed back, but no sooner had she taken one step forward did she balk and the full weight of the situation caught up with her.

What the frag had she done?

She stared at the back of the black mech in something akin to disbelief. Disbelief at what, she wasn't sure. Maybe herself? Maybe because she had just done something so monumentally _stupid_? She may have lost her guardians at a young age, but they had been around long enough to impress upon her several important lessons and one of them was this: **Don't** talk to strangers.

This was doubly important in war-times.

And stupid her, she had broken it.

Because what if Solarhaze had been right?

For once; scary thought

Shadowstrike approached slowly, coming up in a roundabout sort of way, trying to get a good look at the strange mech, trying to discern if he was any sort of threat. He may have been suffering a malfunction in his memory banks, but subconscious programming and the things that had been ingrained in someone for so long were never truly forgotten.

Something crunched under her foot when she was only steps away and the black mech spun around, hands swinging upwards in a defensive position automatically. Before he could take a swing, however, his right leg jerked in a spastic movement that took both his legs right out from under him and he dropped heavily on to his aft, missing the edge of the walkway by mere inches.

"Oh!" Shadowstrike found herself wincing in sympathy and thoughts of danger forgotten, she rushed forward to help the mech to his feet and pull him away from the edge. "Are you alright? Anything broken?"

"N-No." the black mech replied, running a hand down his right leg, seeking out any imperfection that might have led to him losing his balance. He looked up at her. "You?"

Shadowstrike shook her head. "I'm good. Just a little dinged."

"And Butterc-cup?" the black mech asked.

Shadowstrike grinned. "He looks fine, but he tends to take his own sweet time waking up. But if I'm not hurt and you're not hurt, I think he'll be okay."

As if on cue, Solarhaze groaned and lifted his head. His optics took a moment to focus, but when he did see the scene in front of him, he scowled.

"Hey, you wanna back away from her." the yellow Valkyrie said in a mildly threatening tone.

Rolling her optics, Shadowstrike got up from her kneeling position and took a few steps away. This seemed to appease Solarhaze and he pulled himself to his feet, grunting the whole way.

"You okay?" the femme asked.

"Yeah, nothing a little energon can't fix." Solarhaze said, lifting his arm and rotating it in the shoulder socket a few times. He looked upwards and whistled.

Shadowstrike and the still-nameless black mech followed his gaze and their jaws hung open. There didn't seem to be anything above them; not even a ceiling. The walls stretched upwards for miles and ended in a darkness that still seemed to continue

"How far do you think we fell?" the femme wondered. Her voice echoed faintly between the metal walls.

"Maybe we're in the Underworld." Solarhaze replied. He shrugged. "'Cause, you know, the barriers stopped working and fell apart."

"I don't know if we could fly back up to the surface." Shadowstrike said, rubbing the back of her neck and starting upwards with no small amount of trepidation. "It looks like a really long way."

"Do y-you know how l-long we were fa-alling?" the black mech asked, looking between the two jets.

"I blacked out. I'm not sure." Shadowstrike said while Solarhaze shrugged.

The black mech carefully climbed to his feet, looking unsteady and somewhat convinced that he was going to fall over again. When nothing happened, he stepped forward with more confidence.

Then he fell over.

"Slag..."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Shadowstrike raised a brow-ridge.

The black mech rolled over and sat up. He lifted his legs one at a time and flexed the joints slowly and carefully. He didn't find anything wrong and for some reason, that didn't surprise him. He had a feeling that the problem wasn't in his legs.

"It's like a t-twinge in m-my back." he explained. "Like electri-i-icity not g-going to the r-right place."

"I bet Breakstream would know what the problem is." Shadowstrike commented thoughtfully, though she had an inkling as to what the problem might have been. "He's probably not the best medic you'll find, but he's ours. You should like him... I don't." she added sourly.

"Why n-not?" the black mech inquired curiously.

"Oh, ignore her. She's just being all touchy about being a femme." Solarhaze piped up from a few paces behind. "Slag went down in Flotilla about sixty vorns ago and a lot of the femmes got wiped out."

The black mech's optics widened in shock and fixed Solarhaze with a horrified look.

"Th-That's horri-i-ible!" he cried angrily. "W-Who did i-it?! Who w-would do something l-like that?!"

"The Decepticons, that's who." the black-silver Trinity-jet spat. "There's only a handful of us femmes left. I haven't seen any others for vorns now. They're all hiding out somewhere. I stayed behind."

"Wha-at h-happened?" the black mech asked, turning to her.

Shadowstrike's optics darkened.

"I don't wanna talk about it." she grumbled, crossing her arms. "I don't even like thinking about it. So many of us died. I lost some good friends that day." She sighed. "It's just the way the war went. Crosswind always said Megatron was probably going to go to that length sooner or later."

The black mech looked pensive.

"Can I still call you 'Stilts'?" Solarhaze inquired of him. "Since you don't know your real name?"

"Strider." the black mech put in. "I li-ike 'Strider'."

"Sounds good to me." Shadowstrike said, nodding. The newly-christened 'Strider' smiled faintly and with Shadowstrike's help, he climbed back to his feet.

And then he was knocked right off them again when the planet lurched.

Except, it wasn't exactly a lurch. It was more like -- a convulsion. The entire planet, it seemed, shook. As if in pain. Solarhaze, Shadowstrike and Strider were taken right off their feet; thrown to their backs as the floor became more vertical than horizontal. Somewhere above them came the spark-rending shriek of breaking metal; so loud it nearly deafened them.

Still gripping Strider's wrist, Shadowstrike brought her thrusters out of subspace. They manifested underneath her wings, like usual, and she fired them instantly, kicking off from the swiftly-tilting walkway. Strider let out a yelp as he completely lost contact with the ground, his legs dangling over nothing. His other hand shot up and wrapped itself around the black-silver femme's arm.

"What the frag is going on?!" the Trinity-jet demanded, keeping an optic out overhead for anything that might be coming crashing down. "I mean, what the **frag** is going on?!"

"Your g-guess is as good a-as mi-ine." Strider replied, looking up at her for a moment. Then he looked around. The walkway that they had been standing on was at such a sharp diagonal angle that landing on it was impossible now. "D-Do you see Bu-utter-rcup?"

The words had barely left his vocalizer when a familiar yellow Valkyrie came shooting out of the gloom like there was fire on his wing-tips.

"_Oi! I think we had better get the frag out of here!_" Solarhaze shouted.

"Yeah, I can definitely agree with you on that." Shadowstrike said. She gestured to Strider with her free hand. "You're going to have to give him a ride up."

A few moments later, a black-silver Trinity-jet and a buttercup yellow Valkyrie bearing one passenger were rising through the air, searching for the way out of the Underworld while the planet shook and shuddered around them.


	27. Chpt26: The Ones that Got Away

**A/N:** Well, this is the last chapters with the OCs (for now). Additionally, this chapter also contains a very big (and I do mean BIG) hint about the rough direction this story is taking. I do stress "rough direction" because I like to take constantly used plot-thingies and give them a twist, so I doubt this is going to go the way you think it's going to go.

And if you don't get the hint, I shall use my incredible mental powers to smacketh you over long distances.

The neurotic shuttle crew will return in the next chapter.

**Disclaimer:** The **concept **of _Transformers_, among other things, belongs to HasTak and some other people. All the **characters** introduced here are completely original and thus belong to me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Ones that Got Away

* * *

Up on surface, the sudden lurch the planet had taken was felt much more keenly. Nebula had been walking down the hallway at the exact moment when the floor was ripped out from underneath his feet. He yelped in surprise, his hands scrabbling at the tiled floor for a klik or two before he had the presence of mind to activate his anti-gravs. A few ceiling panels popped out and a few of the lights shattered, showering sparks everywhere. He covered his head and waited for it to stop.

It passed quickly, but the world still remained at a dangerously steep angle. Nebula hovered there for a moment, at a loss, and then maneuvered one hand to his comlink and activated it.

"Compound, sound off!" he ordered.

"_Medbay reporting._" Breakstream announced. "_Counterglow and I are alright._"

"_What the frag was that?!_" Counterglow asked in a high-pitched voice. "_Was it a quake? Everything's sideways!_"

"_Overcast from the monitor room sounding off. Commander, it would seem a situation has developed._"

"Well, no slag." Nebula retorted. "You've got this great knack for stating the obvious, Overcast."

"_Har, har, sir. Please come up to the monitor room, if you can make it._" Overcast requested blandly. "_I believe you should see this._"

"I'll be there in a breem." Nebula said, turning off his comm. He looked up and down when he was supposed to have been looking left and right. "Primus, this is going to throw me off..."

He called up his mental map of the Compound and then oriented himself in the right direction. On the way to the monitor room, he had to stop a few times to make sure he was still going the right way. It was amazing what just a little change could do to his sense of direction. A joor earlier, he would have been able to walk down the halls with his optics turned off.

Nebula got to the monitor room without any mishaps and opened the door. Inside was a large computer array manned by Overcast, a steel-gray Deltoid who never seemed to smile. Or really make any expression at all. Overcast was still in the seat, sitting as far forward as he could so his hands could reach the controls. His optics barely flickered when Nebula let himself in.

"Alright, what am I supposed to see?" the multi-hued Tetra-jet asked. His anti-gravs whined as he brought himself over.

"You're not going to like it." Overcast told him plainly.

"Just -- show me what is." Nebula ordered.

"You're really not going to like it." Overcast murmured. His hands flew across the keyboard and a new image appeared on one of the computer screens. It was a shot from their hijacked satellite in orbit.

For a breem or two, Nebula thought he was staring at the surface of Cybertron without the polluted clouds covering it like a veil, but the image moved -- or rather, the thing in the image moved. A thing comprised of metal of some dirty silver/chrome with large spots of rust. A thing that was so large it was taking up the entire screen.

"By the Unmaker..." Nebula whispered, his voice almost a whisper and his hands moved in a nearly-forgotten holy gesture of protection. "Overcast, please tell me that the satellite is just in need of some major repair work and we're not actually seeing that."

"Many of the satellites have been fritzed to the Pit and back since Cybertron was knocked off orbit, but I can verify the optimum performance our satellite." Overcast said. "I'm sorry, sir. But what we're seeing is really there. I told you that you wouldn't like it." he added.

"That thing -- is right on top of us, isn't it." Nebula said in a deadpan tone. "How big is it?"

"Nearly 142,663 kilometers at the equator, sir." Overcast replied, tapping a few buttons. "It's almost as large as Cybertron itself. I believe the sudden change in position was caused by it latching on to the planet."

"_What_?!" Nebula squawked, gripping the back of Overcast's chair and shaking it. "Whaddya mean it's latched onto the planet?! What is it doing?! Is it trying to eat us?!"

There was a flat look in Overcast's blue-gray optics and Nebula realized that he had just answered his own question.

"It's trying to eat us..." the multi-hued Tetrahedron murmured to himself. His optics went wide. "Holy Primus, it's trying to eat us!"

"I think we should run." Overcast stated.

That's right... They should get out of here before they were too dead to leave.

"How fast does a ship have to go to achieve escape velocity from Cybertron?" Nebula asked quickly.

"At least sixty kilometers per second." Overcast replied promptly.

"We can pull it off." Nebula slapped his comm on. "Code Red! I repeat: We have a Code Red! Everybody get out of the Compound **NOW**! Don't try to save anything! Just get to the _Vanguard_! Post-haste!"

And then he and Overcast left the monitor room, not daring to look over their shoulders out of fear of what they might see.

* * *

The ceiling above them ripped away and everything that had once supported it fell to the mercies of gravity.

"_Look out!_"

Shadowstrike and Solarhaze swerved wildly, Strider clinging to the Valkyrie for dear life. A massive titanium pillar plunged past them like a falling missile to the core and so did many more pillars. Wires and shards of metal rained down like bullets, peppering their ill-shielded forms. The two jets fought their way to the surface, trying to avoid all the debris. A great grinding and crunching noise was rumbling over their heads; regular and familiar. Like something had just latched onto the planet's surface. But that couldn't be possible!

Right?

Was a giant claw?

"_What the-- Frag-- What's-- Frag!_" Solarhaze sputtered, his thoughts in complete disarray. Something was ripping the planet apart and he was starting to think that it wasn't just a strong gravitational force.

"_I dunno! I really dunno!_" Shadowstrike replied unhelpfully. Her scanners shot around so fast it was making her cortex dizzy. Then she got a familiar blip. Had her face been visible, she would have been smiling.

"_Buttercup! It's Crosswind!_" the femme shouted, banking about.

"_What?! Where?!_" Solarhaze squawked.

"_Practically right in front of us! Crosswind!_" Shadowstrike shouted.

Somewhere amid the falling gunmetal gray came a spot of burnished red that quickly resolved itself into the familiar kite-shape of the Deltoid jet.

"_Hurry up you lot! That thing is going to be right over us in a few breems!_" the Deltoid shouted.

"_Right! I got this one! Just hang on tight!_" Solarhaze shouted and then he put the impressive speed of the Valkyrie-class jet to work. Thrusters angled downwards so he could rise at a more horizontal angle, he flew upwards right underneath Shadowstrike, scaring the slag out of the little Trinity-jet. Solarhaze was still a little dazed by what was going on, but he plowed upwards nonetheless and Crosswind received the same treatment. He pushed the way out at a frantic pace.

For them, it was still on the horizon, but practically above their heads at the same time; the massive, gaping maw of some kind of monster, suspended in the sky above them, filled with grinding, gnashing teeth. Winds swirled around what was left of Iacon, smelling rank and of dead things that had rotted away long ago. Rust stained the jaws and the teeth.

The foul-smelling winds buffeted at the jets as they rose out of the depths of the sinkhole, engines whining as though they were being tortured. Strider clung tight to Solarhaze's armor. He knew that if he fell, there would no going back to get him. There would be no time.

It was funny how it took an impossible situation to finally get them back in the air and under any circumstance, Crosswind would have enjoyed flying again. But his own life as well as the life of the people he cared about were at stake and any joy to be had from flying was sucked right out of him with that thought.

The beast continued to move in on this world. It was hungry; oh so hungry. It craved sustenance after being chained and trapped for eons. Its great belly rumbled; a sound that shook like thunder. It only had one thought on its mind; an instinctual thought: to feed. Its teeth crept forward, a strange light shining from far overhead. Beneath the light, Cybertron itself shuddered and the planet was moved again.

They cleared the rim of the sinkhole. Out of the right side of their vision, they saw it. Something that was a dusty, tarnished chrome and larger than life.

But they couldn't dwell on it. There was no time and their ship, the _Vanguard_, was cutting a path right towards them. Only Strider had the time. He looked at the great beast and then at the pockmarked plain stretched out beneath him. This was not right. This did not fit with what he could almost remember; what was just out of his reach.

This was not the way Cybertron was supposed to look.

"_Almost there!_" Crosswind shouted. "_Hang on to your afts!_"

They were going to have a narrow gap to fly through. A very narrow one, indeed.

Above them, the beast made a groaning noise, one that came from deep inside. Its foul-smelling breath washed over the five jets and as it happened, it was just the boost they had needed, even though it threw them nosecone over tailfins and launched them screaming through the air, only to be caught by the magnetic docking hooks that had been thrown out. With them secured, the _Vanguard_ flew into the clear with just inches to spare. The jaws bit down at last with finality and tore up a great chunk of planet, feeding at last.

* * *

"By all that was ever holy... What the frag is that thing?..."

The triumph they felt from successfully escaping from certain doom was tempered, maybe even destroyed by the sight they beheld from space. The _Vanguard_'s observation deck provided them with an image that would never leave their processors; indelibly stamped in their memory banks.

"It's like-- It's like -- it's _eating_ Cybertron."

"It **is** eating Cybertron."

"What is it?..."

They could finally see the beast. It was large; as big as their home planet or bigger, made of a rusted, dusty chrome. Great chunks of armor appeared to have been stripped away by some battle eons ago. Even from the distance, they could see gouts of sparks being emitted at odd intervals. The beast had to be in some pain, but if it was, then it didn't notice at all. It just ate and ate; its maw burrowing into the very core of Cybertron, slowly but surely destroying the planet.

"By Primus... Are we--" Breakstream broke off, static snarling through his vocalizer. He was leaning against the safety glass; the only thing keeping him upright. "Are we the only ones who got away?..."

"Don't think about it." Crosswind said, laying a hand on the medic's shoulder. He felt rather faint himself. "Remember, there are others out there somewhere. We're not alone. Don't even think that we are. We'll get through this. I promise."

"I pressed the little red button. It was an emergency beacon." Overcast stated calmly. "Anyways, that thing is much too large for the others not to have seen it."

Shadowstrike was crying bitterly and she hadn't stopped yet; the sound echoing strangely through the deck. The strange black mech whom had introduced himself as 'Strider' was kneeled beside her, an arm resting gently around her shoulders. She wasn't fighting the embrace, much to Solarhaze's vexation. She always shook him off if he tried to do something like that.

The seven fliers and one ground mech stood in silent vigil as their home planet was eaten away; unable to believe what was happening right in front of them. They thought they could hear the great teeth gnashing and grinding its way through the core of the planet. The great beast soon finished and then it moved off. There was very little of the planet still left. Just a few shards. A few shards of what had once been a proud planet, ruined by war and destroyed by something that shouldn't have ever existed.

"Opaque." Crosswind ordered of the A.I. and the glass of the observation deck went blissfully dark. One by one, the stricken mechs trickled off the deck, to rooms that were waiting for them. The thought of leaving Cybertron had occurred to them a long time ago and in preparation -- if the day ever came -- they had packed up most of their belongings and had stowed them away aboard the _Vanguard_. This ship and its contents were just about the only things that **they** had left.

They just hoped that they themselves weren't all that was left.

Some time later, the _Vanguard_ was moving gently through space, on a plotted course for the sort-of-nearby Iruatnece galaxy. The ship itself was almost deathly silent, save for the hum of its systems. The rumble of the engines as it traveled through space was comforting and very recharge-inducing. Some psychologist would probably liken the rumble to the thrum of a creator's spark, but try as she would, Shadowstrike couldn't calm her processor. It whirled and whirred with frightening speed. She was slumped on the recharge bunk in the room that she had claimed, trying to let the rumble calm her, but it wasn't working. It was because Cybertron was _gone_.

The idea was simply unfathomable. Cybertron was her _home_.

Her home!

And now it was gone.

She could argue with herself and say that Cybertron had ceased to be a place to live once the war had started. The war had torn the planet apart, perverting it into something she hadn't recognized after a while.

Maybe they had lost Cybertron a long time ago.

Shadowstrike hugged Spiro, the ancient, stuffed cyber-dragon, closer to her chassis. She had the poor thing for as long as she could remember. Ragged, worn, and nearly falling apart in her hands, Spiro had seen a lot of patching and mending and abuse over the vorns. It was the only really tangible link she had to her life from before the war, however short it had been. She didn't care if it was perceived as childish by anyone else; she wasn't letting the stupid thing go.

She slumped lower until she was lying flat on the bunk, her wings folded under her back. She rolled over onto her side, staring at the desk that was directly beside the bunk. She looked at the belongings she had packed in here vorns ago (in an attempt to keep them hidden from a then-very nosy Solarhaze) and among them were a few holo-pic projectors. Sitting front and center and activated was one of her and the others. Crosswind and Nebula and Breakstream, Overcast and Counterglow and Solarhaze. She could call them her family. They had pretty much raised her from the age of ten vorns; just barely out of the phase of sparkling-hood; just barely old enough to be called a youngling.

This pic had been taken on her fourteenth spark-date. Breakstream had been taking the picture, so he was missing from it. Nebula was pretending to throttle Solarhaze-- Well, maybe he really **was** throttling Solarhaze; it was hard to tell. Overcast was being his usual dour self and Counterglow was trying to make him smile by hooking two fingers into the corners of Overcast's mouth and pulling up. Crosswind was sitting beside her, an arm around her shoulders while she made her wish over the candle on the cake. Interspersed among them were faces that she could barely remember now. Stratous, Nimbus, Whirlwind and Cyclone. Crosswind and Nebula's old wing-mates.

Stratous and Whirlwind had both gone out in Flotilla in the defense of their fellow femmes. Nimbus had died slowly because of poisoning from the toxic atmosphere and Cyclone had gone down holding off Sweeps so that they could escape. Cyclone was the only one of their number who had gone out in just the way he had wanted to. He had gone down fighting with a smile on his face.

Shadowstrike could call them her family -- because she did miss them -- but she rather preferred not to.

She only had one family.

She jabbed the power switch, turning off the projector and then pulled another forward. This one was older, more battered. She turned it on and her spark skipped a pulse at the first picture. She wasn't in this one, but there were four mechs instead. They were being silly, pulling faces and laughing at the camera. A blurry hand could be seen the corner of the pic and gesture being made didn't look very polite.

Her optics devoured the face of each mech, wishing that she could somehow step into the picture and join them. But it was so impossible that it brought tears to her optics. One of those mechs was her older brother; whom she hadn't seen since the war had begun. Not for the first time, she longed for his presence.

When she had been younger, Shadowstrike had firmly believed that her big brother could fix anything. Because that's what family did. Family fixed things and her brother had been all the family she'd had. But big brother had disappeared and he couldn't fix anything now. She had no idea what had happened to him. Maybe he was alive; maybe he was dead. But she wasn't interested in finding out. She had built a wall around her spark just so she wouldn't know that; to spare herself the knowledge. If she never saw him again, it would be too soon.

She curled up around the stuffed cyber-dragon and shuttered her optics.

_Why couldn't you have just stayed like you were supposed to?_

There was a hollow knock on her door and she ignored it. It came again, a bit persistently.

"Go away..." she called miserably and buried her face in her pillow. She didn't know how long it had been since she had locked herself in here. She had switched off the display for her chronometer; pretty sure she didn't **want** to know how much time had passed.

But the person didn't go away like she hoped they would. To her annoyance and dismay, she heard the lock click and then the door swooshed open. Shadowstrike felt the funny urge to kill rising. She just wanted to be alone. Why couldn't those stupid mechs get that?

If it was Solarhaze, she was going to kill him.

"Excuse me."

Shadowstrike somewhat reluctantly raised her head and was surprised to see Strider standing near the end of her bunk in all his amnesiac, lanky-legged glory. Now that he wasn't falling over every which way and short on energy, he seemed to carry with him a careless self-confidence that some mechs would kill to possess and he sent her an easy smile that made her feel just a bit better about everything.

"I just wanted to thank you." he said. The stutter was gone. "For not leaving me behind."

"You're welcome." Shadowstrike muttered tonelessly and she lay back down. "Your voice is better."

"Let's see how well you can talk when you got a bit of tubing stuck in your throat." Strider said, tapping his own. He frowned. "You okay?"

"No." the black-silver femme replied, her muffled by the recharge pad.

"You're a flier." the black mech said, patting one of her folded wings, causing her to twitch. "Why are you sitting in this small room?"

Shadowstrike allowed herself a small smile. "Guess you know more than you think."

"Experience sticks with you." Strider said with a shrug. "I guess I've had experience with fliers before."

He looked around the small room; a thought running through his head that this was too small a room for a flier. He had seen the atmosphere briefly from the _Vanguard_'s forward view screen while fleeing and he had seen the sickly color it had taken on. It must have been too disgusting for any flier to want to fly through. He couldn't imagine getting all that stuff clogged in his vents. Finally, his gaze landed on the holo-pic and the four forms within. He leaned over and picked it up for closer examination. He half-expected to be stopped, but the femme just let him pick it up.

"Your family?" he asked. Shadowstrike looked up again and this time, turned over onto her side so she was facing him a little more.

"Sort of." she said. "The one in the middle there is my brother. Those are just his friends. I remember that they were around a lot." She smiled lazily, fondly. "I used to think of them as my brothers too."

"You miss them." It wasn't a question.

"I haven't seen them in vorns." Shadowstrike said, staring at the far wall, her smile disappearing. "But I don't want to see them again."

"Why not?" Strider asked curiously. If he met someone who recognized him, he would jump at the chance to grill them for all the information they had.

"Long story short," the femme murmured. "It was the circumstances back then -- before the war -- that forced me and my brother apart. We really couldn't do anything about it."

"The war." Strider's optics darkened. He thought he could still hear phantom screams and gunfire in his audials. He really wanted more information about that.

"Yeah..." Shadowstrike nodded in a vague fashion. Then she sat up and stared at him. "Do you think **you** have any family left?"

Strider shrugged and placed the projector gently back on the desk-top.

"If I fought in the war, then I must have been part of a team." he reasoned. "Maybe members of my team are still alive."

"No guarantee of that, though." Shadowstrike said with a heavy sigh. "I hope you do have someone out there who misses you. It can be hell not knowing if there's anyone who still cares."

Strider raised a brow-ridge. That sounded like it had more to it and probably had a lot to do with that lost brother of hers.

"Talk to me." he said.

"What?" Shadowstrike was taken aback.

"You," He poked a finger almost right below her neck, careful to avoid her chassis because he knew how well _that_ sort of move would be received. "Sound like you have a lot on your processor and I have nothing to talk about. So let's hear it."

Shadowstrike was more than just a little taken aback by the black mech's insistence. The forty-five vorn age-gap between herself and the others and the even wider gap between herself and Crosswind and Nebula had made it hard for her to really feel comfortable talking to anyone. And being a femme just made it harder. A few times in the past, she had caught Solarhaze staring at her like she was food and he hadn't eaten in a few orns. He had a crush on her and sometimes, it scared her. He would sneak up behind in darkened hallways or corner her somewhere. She could usually get out of it, but she feared the day she wouldn't be able to and he would do something... unseemly

It also didn't help that any strange mech she tried to talk to would gape rather openly at her chassis. Sometimes, it just sucked being only one of a few femmes left alive.

Shadowstrike eyed Strider closely for a moment. He was keeping his optics up and he had been polite with her so far. Not one day here and he was already calling Solarhaze 'Buttercup'... He had certainly scored a few points in her favor already.

"I don't wanna talk." she muttered, looking away. She barely knew him anyways.

"You should." Strider said, crossing his arms. "When was the last time you sat down and just talked to anybody?"

Shadowstrike bit her lip and settled for glaring at him.

"Y'know, I don't like talking to people about my past!" she snapped angrily. "The klik they figure out who my family is, they just run away! I've had that problem all my life! I think the others have figured it out too! Except for Buttercup, but that's not the point!" She lowered her head. "I never had a proper family. I had **guardians** and y'know, that's not the same as having parents. Real, proper parents who are supposed to spoil you rusted. I don't even know what that's like!"

She put her hands in her lap and the black mech just shifted so he could look her in the optic.

"My dad was never there. I'm glad he wasn't. My brother told me that he had developed a drinking problem and sometimes, he got really violent." Shadowstrike found herself going on; the words spilling out of her mouth before she could think of stopping them. She had kept this bottled up for a long time. "My mum sparked early because of the stress my dad was putting on her. She was trying to keep me hidden and safe from him, but in her fifth month..." She trailed off, shrugging. "I don't really know what happened next, but Mum killed herself because she couldn't take it. Everything just got to her in the end and she just couldn't take it anymore. She wasn't that strong."

Shadowstrike put a hand over her spark and shuttered her optics. She could just barely remember an angry pain in her spark when her mother's had extinguished. The femme/sparkling bond had been weak -- apparently, she had only been a couple of orns old when this had happened and a full, proper bond hadn't formed -- but to feel it tear was something she didn't want to experience ever again.

"And your brother?" Strider inquired.

Shadowstrike shook her head. "Still in school when that happened. He wasn't old enough to take care of me and they put me with a foster family. Saw him just about every day, but y'know, there were times -- a lot of times actually -- when I wished I could have lived with him instead."

Strider really didn't know but he figured there was nothing wrong with nodding vaguely. He felt like a sounding board at the moment; something to just throw words at. But he couldn't believe how quickly the femme had opened up to him. Had he always been like this?

Curse his corrupted memory files!

"I have a question." Strider said. "About Solarhaze."

"What about him?" Shadowstrike asked with a slight glower.

"Why don't you like him?" Strider wondered, his optics wide.

"I dunno; I just don't." Shadowstrike shrugged helplessly. "When I saw him for the first time -- just from a distance -- before he even noticed I was there -- I just knew that I wasn't gonna like him very much."

"And you didn't." Strider put in with a vague smile.

"'Course, I was barely out of sparkling-hood and he was still a pompous windbag back then." Shadowstrike added while nodding. "See, Solarhaze, was a Towers-mech, if that means anything to you-- That doesn't mean anything, does it?"

"I'd have a better chance flying this ship than knowing what that means." Strider said. He looked mildly frustrated.

"Well, basically, if you're a Towers-mech, your family is rich and/or famous. You can't just up and decide to live there one day; you gotta do something that catches the nobles' optics and then they have to invite you to live there. So it's all pretty exclusive." Shadowstrike explained. "Some of the mechs who live in the Towers are all that's left of Cybertron's nobility era and I think that Solarhaze came from one of those families..."

"Ah, so Solarhaze thinks that you're not treating him the way he should be treated." Strider said, the pieces clicking into place.

"He's mellowed a lot since then. In the beginning, I just avoided him like rust." Shadowstrike said. She couldn't help a smile. Her guardians had done a good job at installing a sense of humility in her, but back then, Solarhaze had just been -- too much. "Counterglow thought that the only reason Buttercup started attending the Flight Academy was because his parents didn't want him underfoot all day."

"Question. Why do you call him 'Buttercup'?" Strider asked. He still couldn't help but feel that he was missing the joke.

"Oh... Crosswind started that, actually." Shadowstrike replied. "Overcast told me that Crosswind refused to call anyone by their proper names until they had done something noteworthy; something that would really grab his attention. For Solarhaze, the nickname just kind of stuck."

Before Strider could formulate a response, the entire ship shook alarmingly, like it was hung up on something. But there was really nothing out there in space to get hung up on. For a moment, when all was silent, the two mechs exchanged questioning looks.

But that tremor wasn't the only one to grip the _Vanguard_. The entire ship was rocked from stem to stern, throwing all the occupants right off balance, causing Strider to fall on top of Shadowstrike. She yelped and instinctively tried to bat him away, but he covered her mouth and twisted his head around, listening hard. She still pushed his hand away.

"What was that?" she asked in a whisper.

A grinding noise ripped through the air and there was a harsh squeal of metal.

"Something's got the ship!" Strider shouted, leaping to his feet and sprinting for the door. Shadowstrike was right on his heels, following him into the corridor as it shook and shuddered under their feet.

The whole of the _Vanguard_ was being jolted and whirled, like a dog worrying a shoe. It was nearly impossible to stay upright with all the turbulence. They had managed eight uneven steps before Shadowstrike kicked her anti-gravs on and resorted to half-dragging Strider down to the command deck. They burst through the doors to scene of total chaos.

* * *


	28. Chpt27: Lingering Scars

**A/N:** Alrighty then, here's the long-awaited return of the shuttle crew. I have to say, this chapter was a whole lot of fun to write. I apologize if any of the characters come across as OOC, but when you consider the sort of circumstances they're in and how long they've been **in** said circumstances... Yeah, this chapter was _fun_.

There's a bit of a time-jump between this chapter and Chpt22. In the chronology of the story, this chapter takes place about the same time as the last one and the gang is still working on a Cybertronian day/night thing. This chapter brings up something that happened back in _Chpt5_ and I figured people might wonder just how much time has passed-- Or is that just me? Okay, I'm a bit anal about this sort of thing and I'll shut up now.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ belongs to HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lingering Scars

* * *

--Somewhere deep in space; still a long distance from Earth--

"Look, you really oughta stop saying that to him 'cause you're just making him mad. Like, really mad. And it's a really mean thing to say to someone in the first place, so you should also apologize to him the next time you see him. We're all gonna be stuck on this shuttle for a long time I think, so can't we all just try and get along until--"

"Would you just shut the frag up?!"

Amazingly, Bluestreak shut up. His jaw snapped shut and he turned around in his seat so he was facing the shuttle's communications array and stared at it intently. In his defense, Hound reached over and thwocked Slingshot hard across the back of the helm.

"Bluestreak has a point." Hound pointed out with a kind, if slightly strained smile. "The only way we're gonna to survive this without killin' each other is by playin' nice."

Slingshot made a snorting noise. "Play nice... How can I possibly 'play nice' with some pompous, puffed-up--"

"_Slingshot_! Put a socket in it, will you!" Silverbolt shouted from across the small command deck. Slingshot muttered something in a ridiculously high-pitched parody of his commander's voice, but otherwise stayed silent. Then he stood up and hurried away, grumbling something about wanting privacy and time alone badly. Bluestreak waited until he was out of audial-range before slumping over tiredly.

"Hound, I can't take this anymore!" he cried, covering his head with his hands. "I can't stand him! I can't! It's like sand in my gears! He just _grinds_ and_ grinds_ and I just wanna do something to him! Something-- S-Something--"

"Easy Blue." Hound patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Take it easy or you're gonna end up like Perceptor or First Aid." He looked across the command deck to the other flier who was seated at the helm. "Silverbolt, are you gonna do anything about Slingshot? He's been more of a jerk than usual."

"I can't." Silverbolt muttered with a growl. "I know he's beyond help when he gets _First Aid_, of all mechs, channeling Ratchet. This shuttle was meant to hold four, tops. We have about double that amount. Personally, I'm just amazed he hasn't gone and killed Air Raid."

"Yet." Bluestreak added, putting his head in his hands. "Look, maybe if we let those two get out of the shuttle for a while. Fly around a bit out in space. Would that make a difference?"

"Bluestreak, if you can convince Red Alert to allow that to happen, I will love you forever." Silverbolt said to the younger mech, making him smile, most pleased. "I would let them myself, but unfortunately, as Security Director, Red Alert outranks me."

"He outranks all of us." Hound said with a sigh.

"And we're in the middle of nowhere." Bluestreak muttered, looking downcast. "Red Alert will never let any of us out! Slingshot's already made Perceptor have a breakdown--"

"That was mainly due to stress." Silverbolt deadpanned.

"Nearly beat up Red Alert--"

"Red might have had that one coming." Hound admitted.

"Made First Aid **really **mad--"

Both mechs agreed with that one.

"And just now, he made Mirage cry!" Bluestreak finished. "Mirage never cries! How long have we been on this shuttle anyways?!" Panic started showing on his face plates. "Oh Primus! What if we're stuck on it for the rest of our lives?! We'll be piles of rust and spare parts before anyone ever finds us!"

"Bluestreak! Calm down!" Hound shook the sharpshooter back into reality. "Prime's still out there. We'll get a message from him sooner or later and then we'll meet back up with the main force. Right?"

"Right." Bluestreak nodded, though he still appeared rather horrified by the prospect of being stuck on this shuttle for the rest of his days. He suffered from claustrophobia infrequently; as a result of having a ceiling dropped on him during the destruction of his home town and then being trapped under said ceiling for the better part of a week. The shuttle was not small enough to be a trigger, but he had been stuck on it for some time and the extended period of time in such an enclosed space was starting to aggravate the phobia badly.

"So keep an optic on the communications array for that message." Hound said encouragingly, patting his shoulder comfortingly, hoping the task would keep the sniper's mind off the enclosing walls. Bluestreak nodded again and turned back to the communications array, mumbling something mostly inaudible underneath the air cycling through his intakes.

"_Methinks we have all been exposed to Red Alert for too long_." Silverbolt remarked mildly to Hound over a private line.

"_Nah, Bluestreak can get like this if he stays shut up for too long. He can't help it. ...But you just might be on to something there._" Hound agreed. Then out loud, he asked: "Any idea where we're going?"

Silverbolt paused a moment to check the read-outs. "We've just entered the Lyrika Station/checkpoint space. If memory serves, I believe they have a large bazaar that caters to all sorts and we're starting to run low on general supplies. Fuel included."

"I'll run it by Red." Hound said, tapping into the Security Officer's comm frequency.

In the meantime, the massive pinwheel-shaped space station grew closer.

"Absolutely not!" Red Alert yelled at the group of hopeful Autobots standing in front of him. "We cannot risk stopping there! We do not know where the Decepticons will strike! We will be too exposed on that station! I will not take any chances with unknown locations such as this!"

They immediately broke into furious arguments.

"But Red, that's not fair! We need to refuel--"

"--can't take it anymore! Slingshot's been a real glitch and he hasn't--"

"--don't listen to anything he says! He's lying! I did not make--"

"--need to get off this shuttle! They're all driving me on the fritz! Red Alert, please! I'm acting more like Ratchet every time one of them--"

"--ingrates! The lot of them! You can't say 'no' just because you're the--"

"--been all cooped up for Primus knows how long and you won't even--"

"--can't work in these conditions! None of my experiments will ever reach stability--"

"--the walls!-- Red-- Please--"

"Whoa! Blue!" Hound grabbed the sniper just as his knees buckled. Bluestreak still fell onto his hands and knees, half-curling up in an attempt to make the immediate area seem smaller. Air cycled loudly to cool his heating systems. The loud complaints broke out all over again.

"Enough!" Red Alert shouted them into silence. Seven sets of optics glowered mutinously. "Firstly, as the highest-ranked officer on this ship--"

"Shuttle." The three Aerialbots felt inclined to correct.

"Shuttle, yes. But as the current highest-ranked officer **and** your Security Director, it is my job to keep you safe!" Red Alert snapped. "I highly doubt Prime would be pleased if he lost a number of his best fighters due to carelessness!"

"It's not carelessness! This is about our mental health!" First Aid put in as calmly as he could, which wasn't very calm at all. "Red Alert, in case you've forgotten, Bluestreak can be highly claustrophobic and the amount of time we've spent on this shuttle has exacerbated his phobia! Out of all us, **he** needs off of here the most! And the rest of us have cabin fever! Do you know what that is?!"

"Enlighten me." Red Alert said flatly.

"It's a medical condition characterized by increased restlessness and irritability." the young medic explained. "Usually brought on by spending extended periods of time in a confined space, usually with other people. Also, it has been known to drive even the best of friends to a murderous rage! People have _died_ from cabin fever because a close ally will kill them just to be rid of them!"

Red Alert made a spasming motion with a hand and one of his optics twitched. They flashed between the hopeful and semi-mutinous expressions and then down to Bluestreak who was still doubled over, head clutched in his hands, and cooling system working almost frantically. Half-incoherent words were escaping his vocalizer; a tongue-twister that usually took ten breems to recite properly and without messing up and it was one of the tactics that the sniper utilized in order to calm himself down.

"You'd better make up your mind fast, Red." Silverbolt said, glancing over his shoulder. "We're in hailing range and I'll bet you the docking master will want to know what we plan to do next."

"And it might be a good idea to clean up the shuttle a bit before we have to go through the security checkpoint." First Aid added, pinching his olfactory sensors and making a sour face. "This place hasn't smelled right since Perceptor lost those chemicals."

"Perhaps if Hound hadn't chosen to violently rotate the craft until we purged..." Perceptor groused, arms crossed and staring at the nearest wall like it had wronged him somehow.

"It was either that or lose our warp engines to that worm-thing back there." Hound retorted. "Don't get huffy just because you can't pilot a shuttle."

"I fulfill my chosen profession to satisfaction!" Perceptor snapped, a little shrill. "Science is the driving force behind your firearms and it took brilliant minds such as my own to develop them--"

"Oh, you say that every time!" Slingshot butted in, supremely irritated. "Science is great! Science is brilliant!" He waved his arms about and said this in a whiny tone. "Science can pucker up and plant a big, sloppy, wet one right on my aft!"

He shoved the aforementioned aft at Perceptor to accentuate his point.

"Besides! Is your precious _science_ getting us off this shuttle?!" he asked angrily and when he didn't receive an answer, he added: "I didn't think so!"

Perceptor began to fume.

"Why you despicable--!"

"You mech enough to take me?!" Slingshot challenged, getting in the scientist's face. "You think you can, you weirdo!?"

"I'll show you who's mech enough, you pusillanimous poltroon!" Perceptor retorted, looking angry enough to actually take the challenge. That would be a first for him.

"Pusill-- what?" Slingshot repeated, the anger disappearing long enough to be replaced by confusion.

"I think it's an insult." Air Raid informed him and Slingshot nodded in understanding.

"All right, now that we got that outta the way!--"

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" Air Raid chanted encouragingly. Clearly, he was seeking some action and he didn't care where it was coming from.

"I implore you!" Perceptor dared, his temper crawling ever higher. "Say anything! Anything at all!"

"You're a lousy scientist!" Slingshot shouted, jabbing a finger at the mech.

Tempers that had been straining for the last few weeks suddenly, but inevitably snapped and the next thing anyone knew, a small brawl had broken out right there in the middle of the command deck. Silverbolt immediately leapt in to pull his wing-mate off of Perceptor and Air Raid decided to join in with his fists flailing. Mirage moved to pluck Air Raid out of the mess while Red Alert tried to drag Perceptor out. Unfortunately, due to all the flying fists, they got involved against their will. Hound tried to drag a still-calming-down Bluestreak out of the way, but the mass of metal rolled over both of them before he got the chance. More howls of anger and surprise filled the small space.

On the sideline, First Aid shuttered his optics and imagined that he was anywhere **but** here. At the moment, the only thing he wanted to do was pull out a wrench and wallop the lot of them. He hated to admit it, but Ratchet had rubbed off on him terribly.

But someone needed to maintain a cool head and right now, it had to be him, so he managed to edge around the brawl and made his way to the communications array where he keyed in the comm frequency for the landing platforms, clamping the headset tightly over his audials, hoping to drown out the noise.

"_Sorry. Full._" came a curt, short-tempered sounding voice. It took First Aid a moment to register the words that had been spoken.

"What?" he half-squeaked. "No! No, you can't just say you're full!"

"_I can and I have. Now beat it._" the man on the other end of the comlink said gruffly.

"I know there are spaces left! Now let us dock slaggit!" First Aid shouted, feeling ready to crack himself. Walls had never looked more confining.

"_No._"

First Aid was able to resist the overwhelming urge to slam his fist into the array, but only because they were going to need it later.

"Sir, I need you to listen to something." he said and turned the loudspeaker towards the brawl. At the same time, someone started biting someone else's ankle and there was a yelp of pain and anger. This went on for several moments.

"_What-- are you people trying to do to each other?! Kill each other?!_" the man yelped, sounding shocked and horrified.

"If you don't let us dock, then yes, we're likely to kill each other!" First Aid hissed gratingly. "We have been on this shuttle for _far_ too long! And are you really going to deny this station some new business?"

There was a silence in which First Aid hoped he had appealed to the business man within. When in doubt, dangle money over them.

"_We'll, uh-- We'll send out a docking beam._" the man finally conceded, much to the young medic's relief. "_Bear three-four by six-two and we'll take it from there._"

"My thanks, sir." First Aid said and put the headset down, turning off the array. "Blasted organics..."

And then he practically leapt over to the helm. He brought the shuttle to the indicated coordinates and a moment later, a small jolt indicated the docking beam had taken over control of the shuttle. So with that accomplished, First Aid whipped around, pulled out a wrench and started bashing some heads in.

A few dents later, when the shuttle was safely docked, the engines shut off to cool down; Red Alert stepped out first to speak with the dock workers who were approaching. Bluestreak had staggered out right after him, making straight for the pillars that separated each docking platform and leaning heavily against one. There was no stopping Air Raid and Slingshot from running off wildly, wings twitching madly, though Silverbolt tried his best to get his two wing-mates back under some semblance of control.

"Two joors!" Red Alert turned his attention away from the dock workers long enough to shout that. "Get your afts back here in two joors!"

First Aid wandered out to check on Bluestreak.

"You okay?" he asked, practically oozing concern from every orifice. He had kept a close optic on Bluestreak ever since he had come aboard.

"Yeah..." the young gunner breathed. "Back there... Just too much... Um... First Aid?"

"Yes?"

"Was that actually true?" Bluestreak asked worriedly, leaning closer to the medic. "Was it actually gonna get so bad we'd resort to _killing each other_?!"

"No, it's not true." First Aid assured him in a low voice, sniggering. He glanced over to the Security Director and lowered his voice a little more. "But I thought it would best if we all got some time apart before it actually _became_ true."

"Sneaky thinking." Hound praised him, having walked over. "Blue, you wanna have a look around?"

"Sure!" Bluestreak's normally cheerful attitude had already returned in the open air.

"First Aid?" Hound turned to the medic.

"No, I'd better stay here with Perceptor." First Aid backed out, raising his hands. "I'd rather Red Alert not blow a fuse over 'lax' security."

"Might be better off that way-- Mirage!" Hound hollered. "Wanna have a look around?!"

"Do I have a choice?!" the spy shouted back from inside the shuttle.

"Yeah, but do you really wanna stay here with Red?"

Mirage emerged from the shuttle.

"You raise a very convincing argument, my friend." he said with a small grin.

"Red, Perceptor and First Aid are gonna stay behind and keep you company." Hound informed the Security Director. Red Alert waved a hand to indicate that he had heard and went on discussing something with the much smaller dock worker. The remaining Autobots ventured off the docking platform and into the bazaar and through the crowd of beings of all shapes and sizes.

"Ugh." Mirage shuddered as he looked around and stepped over something that looked very sticky. "Suddenly I'm very glad that Tracks isn't here. I can't begin to imagine how that altercation on the shuttle would have turned out otherwise."

"He'd be raisin' a fit about his appearance, that's for sure." Hound nodded in agreement.

"I dunno, I don't think we look that bad." Bluestreak commented, closely examining his wrist joint. "Okay, none of us have hit a decent wash-rack in weeks and I've got this gummy stuff building up in my joints, but it's not really that noticeable. I mean, it's not like it's some kind of deadly rust that'll eat us from the inside out--"

"I'm just grateful to get off that shuttle for a while." Mirage said to Hound over the younger mech's chatter.

"Yeah, a little more space to move around in is nice." Hound agreed.

"Not that you could precisely call this 'space'." Mirage pointed out, gesturing around them.

The space station had been built large and it was probably the largest on this end of this galaxy; since it had been intended to cater to any being of any shape and size. The Autobots were easily the tallest of the lot by four feet on average and they cut a path through the smaller beings as easily as one wades through a shallow stream. They moved slowly, however, glancing down every so often to watch where they were placing their feet.

Despite the open airiness of the station and the bazaar, there was still a roof overhead, giving it a closed-in feel. The dozens of different languages echoed all around them, bouncing off the walls and the buildings, accompanied by the sounds of other businesses in full swing. It was enough to give anyone with super-sensitive hearing a headache fast.

Much to their relief, the Autobots found a section of the bazaar that catered to those of the mechanoid persuasion. The buildings in this area were a little bigger than their counterparts down the road and the vendors a little more familiar looking. Mirage discovered on sale a certain type of fuel that the Autobots could easily refine into low-grade energon and bought as much of it as his limited budget would allow.

"Well, we're set for energon for a while as long as we ration it." he said, catching up to the others. "We'll only get low-grade out of it, however."

"Low-grade's better than nothin'." Hound said, examining the price tag on a canister of oil. His left knee joint had been making some funny squeaky noises as of late, but after looking at the price, he figured he could live with the squeaky noises a little while longer. "And is it just me..." He leaned closer to his friend. "Or are we getting' a lot of glares?"

Mirage glanced around as well. They did seem to be getting some glares more than just here and there.

"Do you suppose it is us they're not fond of or our race in general?" he wondered. "Or perhaps mechs our size are not seen in this part of the universe very often? We are very far from Cybertron; its current location and its original solar system."

"I really don't like the way they're staring at us." Hound decided firmly. "Let's go. We've got what we need."

"_We're being followed._" Bluestreak told them suddenly over the comm.

"_Who are they and how many?_" Mirage asked, casting his sensors out for their pursuers. But there were too many beings around for him to get a lock on any one in particular. Not to say that he hadn't expected this.

"_I can't tell; maybe only two or three?_" Bluestreak shrugged. "_They're really small._"

"_Start walking._" Hound suggested and the trio of Autobots set off in the opposite direction they had come from, their sensors still keeping a watch on their backs.

"_Hold on._" Mirage sounded tense. "_I've got two Decepticon signatures-- Slag! I think it's those Pit-damned cassette twins!_"

"_Then Soundwave must be close by. And if Soundwave's around somewhere, then so is Megatron. _" Hound reasoned, sounding grim. He looked around as much as he could without moving his head too far. "_C'mon, through there._"

Hound ushered his comrades down an empty side street. Clear of any more pedestrians, they started to sprint away to put a good amount of distance between them and their pursuers. They stopped after a few minutes, further away from the bazaar and the buildings were now tall enough to be lost in; closer to their size.

"I think we've lost them." Mirage said, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm not picking them up on my scanners anymore."

"What are Decepticons doing here?" Bluestreak wondered, leaning against the nearby wall. "This place is way out of their way. Everyone says there's no life in this part of this galaxy. All the planets are either giant gas balls or their atmospheres are so toxic that they can't support any life."

"Maybe the Decepticons know somethin' we don't." Hound said. "Maybe they know where the AllSpark is--"

"Oh, don't say that, Hound." Mirage groaned, face-palming. "Don't you know you're not supposed to say things like that?"

"Relax, Raj, it's not like the 'Cons can do anything." Hound said, taking the spy's shoulder and giving him a firm shake.

"And if the AllSpark was anywhere, it would go to a planet that already has life on it." Bluestreak reasoned. "If I was a giant cube-lookin' thing that granted life, I'd go hide among other sorts of life. The AllSpark may give off a really specific energy signature, but I think that would get fuzzy if it was surrounded by other living things."

"The logic is sound..." Mirage agreed, crossing his arms. They acted nothing alike, but there were times one was reminded that Bluestreak and Prowl were brothers.

"Besides, places like these are accorded neutral ground. The only thing they can do is follow us around." Hound pointed out.

"When has that ever stopped the Decepticons?" Bluestreak asked, looking unusually grim. Neutrality had rarely ever stopped the Decepticons in the past. Bluestreak's hometown had been neutral and the Decepticons had still come in and flattened the place. The sniper had been the sole survivor by sheer dumb luck.

No, it would be an act of Primus himself if neutrality stopped a Decepticon.

Hound suddenly raised a hand in a signal to remain quiet and stepped softly to the other end of the street they were on; back pressed to the building wall and he ever so carefully looked around. He pulled back almost instantly, fear in his optics. The green/gray scout normally wasn't overly flustered, but through the series of wild hand gestures he was making, it was clear that whatever was lurking around that corner wasn't something good.

Bluestreak moved forward while Mirage glowed briefly and disappeared. Soft footsteps told the young gunner that the spy was walking ahead. Hound stood aside and Bluestreak peeked around the corner.

There was a large, silver mech standing there, crimson optics narrowed with an ugly scowl, poking another mech in the chassis forcefully. The other didn't seem to be doing a lot to defend himself, but was rather standing there meekly and taking it. Bluestreak recognized the meek mech as Astrotrain. He knew from experience that the triple-changer had never been one to stand there and take a dressing-down in stride, but the only--

Recognition snapped into place.

"Mega--"

Hound slapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him out of sight.

"_It's Megatron! Primus Almighty Hound! It's Megatron!_" Bluestreak yelled shrilly over the comm, fumbling for his rifle.

"_I know._" Hound replied. "_Mirage, can you get close enough to hear what they're saying?_"

"_Almost there._"

The invisible spy crept closer. He was consciously aware that being invisible did not make him silent as well, but he has learned to creep around lighter than a cyber-cat. He managed to get within arm's reach of the triple-changer, so close he could have calmly snipped a few wires and the Decepticon wouldn't have notice until he tried to do something.

"--stupid enough to let them get away from you?!" Megatron was growling. "You had them! They were right in your grasp!"

"I'm sorry, Lord Megatron sir!" Astrotrain backed up a step or two. "The mad scientist's bomb-- It was right there! It exploded before we could do anything!"

_The mad scientist? Maybe Wheeljack?_ Mirage wondered. Wheeljack certainly fit the title of "mad scientist" down to a tee.

"I wouldn't care if he had a hundred bombs!" Megatron exploded, punching the triple-changer down. "You knew your job and it was to keep any other Autobots from reaching Prime!"

Astrotrain looked up, glaring. Mirage noticed that the triple-changer's armor bore quite a lot of black scuff marks and a few patch-jobs that looked recent. Megatron looked unscathed and his armor was all nice and shiny, but it was clear that the triple-changer had been through a battle and repairs had only taken place recently.

Or it might have not been so recent. Wheeljack's bombs had a tendency to leave lingering scars.

"Thanks to your stupidity, there are **four** more Autobots on Earth! _FOUR_!!" Megatron kicked Astrotrain even as the triple-changer made to stand up. "Prime's ranks will swell before the army even makes it this far! And it'll be your fault! I want you to get your slagging team-mates and get back out there and stop any more of those wretched Autobots! I don't care how well-armed they might be; just stop them!"

"Lord Megatron, it's a suicide mission!" Astrotrain finally retaliated, surging to his feet. Mirage jumped back a few steps to avoid being stepped on. "Hook hasn't cleared Blitzwing and Octane for space travel yet either! We can't go anywhere! Just send the Seekers! They're expendable enough!"

A large fusion cannon planted itself in front of Astrotrain's face.

"Weren't you listening when I said it?" Megatron asked in a low, ominous snarl. "Starscream and his wing-mates are traitors to the Decepticon cause. They are weak, useless little fools and I have long regretted my decision to induct them into the ranks. The next time you see any of them, shoot on sight! That's an order!"

_That's strange. Megatron has never called his Seekers 'weak and useless' before. They always able to mow through our ranks whether we're prepared for them or not._ Mirage thought, one optic narrowed in confusion. _He may be referring to Starscream, but I would never classify the other two as 'weak and useless'._ He shook his head a little. _I believe that I might have missed some very important information._

"Lord Megatron?"

Mirage had never seen Astrotrain looking so scared of the Decepticon lord before. Astrotrain was usually full of an unhealthy amount of bluster and defiance, even for all his loyalty. He did fear Megatron -- any intelligent Decepticon did -- but if Mirage's optics weren't lying to him, the triple-changer looked absolutely petrified.

A squawk of surprise erupted from the side-street along with a clash of metal and a whole lot of yelling. The spy leapt aside as Blitzwing and Octane emerged a few moments later, dragging a semi-immobilized Bluestreak and Hound with them.

_Slag!_ Mirage swore, drawing himself back around a nearby corner in the minimal shadows there.

"Lord Megatron! We have captured these two Autobots!" Blitzwing said proudly.

Hound attempted to free himself, but the triple-changer kicking him in the back of the knee and tightened his grip around the Autobot's neck until the scout gave a wheezy whimper. In Octane's grasp, Bluestreak looked too terrified to try anything.

Megatron smirked at them.

"You see Astrotrain?" he said, sickeningly polite. "Capturing Autobots is really not so hard. If Blitzwing can manage it, then you can too." He turned around. "Soundwave!"

Mirage jumped when he noticed the Communications Officer standing a few yards away, examining something in his hand with apparent interest. He swore that that mech didn't need to become invisible to walk around unnoticed.

"Send out Laserbeak and Buzzsaw!" Megatron ordered. "Autobots usually travel in packs. See where the others are." He turned back to the triple-changers. "And take these two back to the ship! Put them in the brig and be prepared for more prisoners!"

"Yessir!" the triple-changers shouted obediently and started to drag the two, unfortunate Autobots away.

_Not so fast._ Mirage thought. He pulled a miniature tracking probe out of subspace and with an expert flick of his wrist, tossed it. It affixed itself to Bluestreak's ankle joint and blinked its light once to indicate that it had activated, then its coloring changed to blend in.

Satisfied, Mirage turned and hurried away as fast as he could while remaining as silent as he could. He had to get back to the shuttle and warn the others. Decepticons had a specific way of doing some things and Soundwave had probably jammed the all comm. channels in the area. Mirage would have to tell his comrades in person.

* * *

Refueling was well underway and Red Alert was quite pleased with the proceedings. The dock workers had even agreed to give the shuttle a wipe-down so it wouldn't look quite so grungy. At least on the outside. On the inside, where there were nine mechs trying to live peacefully with each other and failing miserably, the shuttle wasn't quite so clean. The walls were scratched and dented, some doors stuck from the number of angry punches that had been thrown at them. One corner of the ship smelled absolutely foul from one of Perceptor's experiments that he had tried to maintain, only to lose it when an argument had carried in his direction and there had been an explosion of Wheeljack-like proportions.

Oh, things had been perfectly alright in the beginning. The shuttle had been small enough for the original four to get on comfortably. Even once they had picked up Mirage, it still hadn't been so bad. And it wasn't very long after Mirage had boarded did they also run across Bluestreak and three of the Aerialbots. Not being one to abandon comrades in need, Red Alert had taken them on as well.

And that was when the trouble had started.

Though with two snipers and three fliers added to their small contingent -- meaning that they stood a better chance at making it through this in one piece -- it had been a long haul between their last refueling station and here.

A very long haul.

Red Alert hadn't noticed the trouble until about three weeks in when Slingshot had started complaining about his wings going stiff from a lack of use. At first, he had just attributed it to Slingshot just being Slingshot and had been about to carry on, business as usual.

Then he had noticed that Bluestreak had been edgier than usual, rambling a hell of a lot more, and glancing at the walls more than was normal; like he was making sure they were staying where they were supposed to be. Hound had started to snap at people for no apparent reason and Mirage had been spending a lot more time invisible than he normally did. Even Silverbolt and Air Raid had seemed on the verge of losing their heads, constantly glancing upwards as if they hoped to see an open sky rather than the dingy shuttle ceiling.

The real kicker had been Perceptor's nervous breakdown, courtesy of one particular Aerialbot. The poor scientist had fried a good dozen circuits and his CPU had been on the fritz to end all fritzes.

And then First Aid... Quiet, peaceable First Aid the pacifist, had spewed a furious tirade on Slingshot's idiocy more than worthy of Ratchet the Hatchet.

Since then, his temper had been questionable at best.

As much as the Security Director detested having them all spread out like this, in danger of an attack at any moment (because he **still** didn't know why the _Nemesis_ had just let them go), they would all be much happier upon return. And then they could get on with this blasted journey in relative peace.

Red Alert wandered through the halls of the shuttle, one hand clutched around the handle of his handgun. He could hear Perceptor and First Aid trying to fix up part of the floor that had received the brunt of Perceptor's failed experiment and from the sounds of it, they weren't having much luck. The chemicals had corroded part of the floor. The only thing they could really do was try and clear away the damaged bits. Red Alert sighed and shook his head. His team-mates sometimes...

He walked into the command room and noticed that a light on the communications array was flashing. Oh, a waiting message? He hurried over to it--

"Red!"

Hands slammed down on his shoulders and Mirage appeared literally out of nowhere.

"Primus Almighty!" Red Alert screamed, almost pistol-whipping the spy over the head.

"I'm sorry!" Mirage gasped, leaning on him for support. "But-- I saw-- I saw--"

"What! What did you see?!" Red Alert asked, not at all happy with being caught-off guard like that.

"...Megatron..." the spy wheezed. "I saw Megatron!... And Soundwave!... And the triple-changers!... They've got Hound and Bluestreak...!"

"What?! When was this?! When did this happen?!" Red Alert spazzed, clutching at his head. "I knew it! I knew stopping here was a _bad_ _idea_! I knew that if I let you all go free, you would all just get into trouble! I never should have let you! We should have just gone by the checkpoint and continued on!"

"What was?" First Aid had emerged from the inner corridors. He looked between the spy and the Security Director. "What's going on?"

"Megatron's here..." Mirage repeated, air hissing in and out of his internal systems. "Triple-changers got Bluestreak and Hound... Gotta tracker-- on Bluestreak... And Prime's on some planet-- in an arm of the next galaxy over..."

"Why didn't you say that sooner?" Red Alert asked, suddenly calm in the face of a new calamity. Because there suddenly existed the possibility of finally reaching sanity in the form of Optimus Prime.

Truthfully, he only ever grew spazzy when there was no threat, but the second a Decepticon showed its ugly face, he displayed a coolness and preciseness only rivaled by Prowl. When Red Alert was calm, it was time for the rest of them to panic.

"You didn't give me the chance." Mirage pointed out.

"Right. Mirage, you're with me." Red Alert said. "First Aid, as per protocol--"

"I know, I stay with the ship." the young medic said, resigned to that fact.

Red Alert tapped into his comm. "Perceptor, we have a problem. Do you want something to do?"

"_Something to do?_" Perceptor repeated, sounding confused.

"Yes, something to do other than sit there and fritz out." First Aid put in.

"It involves slagging some 'Cons." Mirage explained. "Are you in?"

He knew that the scientist would probably go mad without something to do. And he would probably go crazy if he couldn't work off the nervous energy.

Mad, crazy scientists never did the universe any good.

"_I'll be right there._" Perceptor replied and the thud of footsteps told them that he was coming.

The trio of Autobots left the shuttle in a hurry; Mirage quickly explaining in more detail what he had seen.

"Perceptor, contact the Aerialbots and let them know what has happened." the Security Director instructed as they ran, dodging around and stepping over the other pedestrians. "Mirage, did you see where Hound and Bluestreak were taken?"

"No, Soundwave was in the area and I didn't want him discovering that I was there." Mirage said. "I'll see if the tracker has stopped moving yet."

Nope, it hadn't yet.

"They're still moving around." he announced. "But they're down near the other end of the docking yard."

Red Alert nodded briefly and then looked around to Perceptor. "Have you contacted the Aerialbots yet?"

The scientist made a shushing noise as he listened to the response.

"They are on their way." he said.

* * *


	29. Chpt28: Overdue

**A/N:** Egads! I've been loosing track of the days! That ain't good.

Whee! Over 300 reviews! You're all too awesome for words!

Now stop asking me about Sideswipe.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Overdue

* * *

Once more, Silverbolt had given up trying to control his two wing-mates as they rushed around the bazaar, laughing and exclaiming over various things like they were fledglings again.

They had spent a long time on that shuttle. Red Alert had tried his best to keep a tight ship running. The only problems were, the shuttle had been meant to hold only four and it could be run by three mechs. That meant there were still six other mechs dying of boredom in the back and three each crammed into each small quarters and trying to live peacefully with each other.

Silverbolt loved his brothers, but for Primus's sake, he could only take so much of them at a time.

At least Red Alert had given them two joors.

Silverbolt needed some time to think and he hadn't been able to get any of that back on the shuttle. He had felt like a parent; telling Air Raid to put a lid on it, keeping Slingshot from arguing with everybody, helping Red Alert police the fires and at the same time, wondering what had become of Fireflight and Skydive.

He had no doubts that they were alright, but he would hate to lose either of them. He didn't know what he would do if either of them died. There was already a slight pang in his spark since he had heard about what had become of Skyfire. The Valkyrie may have not been one of his wing-mates, but the Aerialbots had stubbornly kept an optic on the kid anyways. Silverbolt knew that Perceptor must have been hurting over it for a while. Out of any Autobot, the scientist had likely been the closest to the silver Valkyrie. It hurt a bit to remember that Skyfire had no one closer who would mourn him.

_In the grand scheme of things, it might have been for the better._ The Aerialbot commander thought, a little pained. _Skyfire was never able to fit in._

How could he think something like that?

_Remember who his friends were. I bet they don't even know he's gone._

It would be horrible to never be remembered.

_And I bet they wouldn't even care._

"_Perceptor to Silverbolt_"

Thank Primus for distractions, but Silverbolt groaned. Red Alert was being paranoid and calling them back. He knew it. He could feel it in his circuits.

"_Here..._"

"_I'm afraid we have a problem. Megatron is on this station._"

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

"_Here? Are you sure?_" Silverbolt asked, trying to catch the optic of at least one of his brothers. "_Have you seen him?_"

"_Mirage claims to have and he adds that the triple-changers are here as well. They have captured Hound and Bluestreak._"

"_Let me get the other two,_" Silverbolt said, already moving forward through the crowd. "_And we'll be right there. Silverbolt out._"

Primus, why did they seem to be getting further and further away?

A smaller life form darted right out in front of him and Silverbolt abruptly pulled up short. He overbalanced a little and was forced to take a step back. A small, bipedal organic shouted angrily at him and even kicked his foot, before a larger one came up and dragged it back, sounding extremely apologetic, and hustled the smaller one away. Silverbolt just blinked and then shook his head -- bold little organic -- and looked up again for his brothers.

They were nowhere to be seen.

And a remarkable feat given the average height of the crowd.

Okay, Slingshot was the shortest of all the Aerialbots and that he could understand, but Air Raid?

"Slag it all!"

"_Air Raid, Slingshot! Where the slag are you two?!_"

"_I dunno._" Air Raid said.

"_I think I'm lost._" Slingshot announced.

Silverbolt groaned.

"_Look, just find a good place to transform and get in the air._" Silverbolt said, semi-annoyed. "_Red Alert's just called an emergency and I believe we know it best as 'Megatron'._"

"_Megatron? No slag?_"

"_Triple-changers too. They've got Hound and Bluestreak captured. Mirage laid a tracker on them--_"

"_So we get to fight Decepticons?_" Slingshot interrupted excitedly.

"_Uh... Yes._"

"_Sweet!_"

In the distance, Silverbolt saw a Picayune jet rise up fast to the ceiling. Well, he knew where Slingshot was now.

"_Get in the air._" Silverbolt commanded, already looking for a place to safely transform as well. "_And for the love of Primus, report to Red Alert before you do anything stupid._"

* * *

Hound and Bluestreak had been thrown into a Decepticon's brig several times before to be familiar enough with the procedures, but Octane liked to actually physically **throw** the prisoners into the cell.

"Slag-head!" Hound shouted as he landed heavily on top of Bluestreak with an ugly crunching noise. Octane made a rude hand gesture and laughing cruelly, walked away, roughly shoving Blitzwing ahead of him.

"Ow! Hound! Hound, you're on my door-wings!" Bluestreak wailed in pain, trying to push the larger mech off with his elbows.

Hound lurched to his feet immediately and Bluestreak let out a small whimper as the pressure came off his door-wings.

"Sorry Blue. You okay?"

"Sore... Definitely..." Bluestreak said, turning over and sitting up, rubbing his back. "I'll be okay."

He let out a hiss as his fingers encountered the slightly bent gears. Great, now his door-wings were going to be hanging at a weird angle until he could ask First Aid to realign them. Until then, they would cause him no small amount of discomfort.

"This is great." Hound muttered, seating himself in the bench that ran around the solid walls of the cell. Three of them were metal; the fourth wall was made of metal bars charged with electricity strong enough to deliver a jolt that would keep a few circuits rattled for about a joor.

"It'll be okay." Bluestreak said assuredly. "Mirage was right there, remember? I bet the first thing he did was go get help. He wouldn't just leave us hanging like this."

"At the risk of sounding like Huffer, Mirage doesn't know where we are." Hound pointed out. He didn't like sounding so pessimistic -- he much preferred the bright side of anything -- but it was, unfortunately, true.

Mirage knew better than to venture right into the lion's den and risk becoming captured as well before he could tell anyone else. Considering that Soundwave was in the area as well, Mirage would have had to have run all the way back to the shuttle in order to inform Red Alert and gather the others. And at that point, he wouldn't have seen where they were being taken.

"But we're on the _Nemesis._" Bluestreak interjected. "We saw that much. All Mirage has to do is find the ship and then he'll know exactly where we are." Then he brightened. "Or he just sticks a tracker to my ankle." he added, holding up his right leg for Hound to see. And sure enough, there was small, camouflaged tracker light blinking dimly on the back the gunner's ankle.

"Slagger." Hound said with a grin. "That annoying slagger. He doesn't pull those out nearly often enough."

Mirage's trackers had been specially commissioned to Wheeljack. They had a wide range, nearly undetectable due to their chameleon ability to blend in with whatever metal they were magnetized to and the signal could only be picked up on a few specific frequencies known only to the Autobots. Mirage rarely used them to track people down, mainly because he didn't like using them and then losing them. Wheeljack had blown himself up no less than twenty-three times trying to get the camouflage programming to work in such a small area. Mirage had requested no more than a dozen be made, because he didn't want Wheeljack repeatedly sending himself to the medbay on the account of the spy.

"Guess he figured the situation was serious enough." Bluestreak said, plucking the tracker off his ankle and subspacing it. He grinned. "Doesn't that make you feel really special Hound?"

"Yep..." said a dry voice before Hound could answer. "It makes me feel so slagging special I think I'm just gonna heave my fuel tank in joy." Then it took on an aggravated, long-suffering and slightly panicky tone. "Where the slag have you people been?!"

Hound stared at the solid wall on his right, behind which the dry voice was emanating from. He knew that voice and he knew it well. The only question was, who did it belong to?

"...Sunstreaker?"

"It's **Sideswipe**!" the twin shouted, aggravated. "It's just me!"

"You're sounding lot like your brother, actually." Bluestreak pointed out. "Y'know, you two really do sound a lot alike when you're both in the same mood. Has anyone ever told you that? Neither of you really look a lot alike, but you sound about the same. If Sunstreaker just stopped being so grumpy all the time, he would sound a lot more like you--"

"Bluestreak, please shut up." the lone red twin moaned. "I'm low enough on energy as it is and I don't want to waste it trying to figure out what you're saying. Hound, where are we?"

"_Nemesis_. Lyrika Space Station/security checkpoint." the green/gray scout replied. "How'd **you** get here?"

"I was trying to find my brother." Sideswipe replied vaguely. "Kept getting the feeling he was in this direction, so I just hitched a ride and hoped they were gonna stay on course. Jus' the 'Structies on board. I didn't think they were gonna catch me. Or notice me..."

"Why would you think they wouldn't?" Hound asked incredulously. "They have to do exterior checks every once in a while."

"Yeah... That's how they caught me." Sideswipe admitted.

"I'd hate to tell you this now, but it ain't just the Constructicons now. Megatron's shown up with some others. Triple-changers and Soundwave."

"And Barricade. Slag..." the red twin groaned. "So who's with you guys?"

"Other than Mirage, there's First Aid, Red Alert, Perceptor, and three of the Aerialbots."

"Yeah, Slingshot's been this complete slag-head lately." Bluestreak put in, scowling. "Then again, we're on a shuttle that isn't supposed to take more than four of us and there's nine of us and First Aid says we've all got cabin fever, which is the reason Red Alert actually let us go out. First Aid made up some stuff about how we would all kill each other if we didn't get away from each other for a while and it works, because, hey! Here we are!"

"That's nothing to be proud of."

"Who said I was proud of it?"

"There's just -- one thing I haven't figured out yet..." Sideswipe went on, sounding confused. "I've been locked up in here for probably a couple months now and Megs has come down to taunt me a few times and so have the 'Structies and Barricade once or twice... But Starscream is way overdue..."

"Starscream hasn't shown up?" Hound said. He pondered this for a moment. "Come to think of it, he should have turned up by this time to point and laugh at us."

"See what I mean? Something weird is going on." Sideswipe said. "I even asked Megs where the screaming one was and he tried to shoot me."

"He did?"

"Yeah, but that blast didn't make it through the bars."

"What about the other Seekers?" Bluestreak wondered. "Have you seen them?"

Sideswipe didn't respond for a very long time.

Hound rapped on the wall.

"You still with us over there?"

"Urrg... Sorta..." the red mech groaned.

"Go to recharge." Hound instructed gently. "The rescue squad will show up soon enough. Might as well save your strength."

A newer, lower hum began to sound through the brig.

"Hound?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't think I like the idea of having both Slingshot **and** Sideswipe stuck on that shuttle at the same time." Bluestreak in a very matter-of-fact voice.

Hound just laughed.

* * *

The _Nemesis _was by no means the largest ship in the Decepticons' army, but it was the one Megatron favored the most. As the flagship, it had the toughest armor plating and the strongest weapons and it was still a towering, bulky, cold menace that made the Autobots standing before it shiver before dashing away to hide in an alley and plot their infiltration attempt.

"This isn't going to be easy." Red Alert said in a low voice, forcing them to form a huddle to hear him properly. Surprisingly, he unearthed a datapad from subspace that had a full layout of the _Nemesis_ on it.

"And just where did you get that?" Silverbolt asked.

The Security Director just gave him a Look and Silverbolt shut his mouth on any further questions.

"They'll be in the brig here." he said, jabbing a finger to one point on the pad. "The main entrance is one level above the brig. The cameras are bound to spot us and the alarms will go off." He looked up at the tiny contingent that had been unceremoniously dropped under his command. "I want the Aerialbots to run interference with any Decepticons we run across. Delay them in any way possible. We need all the time you can give us."

The Aerialbots nodded, glad to see some action at last.

"The rest of us will infiltrate the brig and rescue Hound and Bluestreak." Red Alert finished, looking at the others. "At that point, we need to sabotage the engines, particularly their transwarp drive engines. The more damaged, the better."

"And then what shall we do?" Perceptor asked. He didn't look too pleased about being here. "How will we return to the shuttle un-pursued? You don't seem to have figured out that part of the plan."

"I'm counting on them being too distracted by the sabotage." Red Alert replied. "Hopefully, it will slow them down long enough for us to escape."

"And if not?" the scientist pressed. He wanted every variable.

The Security Director appeared at a loss to give that question an answer.

Silverbolt crossed his arms. "You're leaving something else out of this suicide run."

Red Alert glanced over to Mirage.

"If everything that Megatron said has any truth, then Optimus Prime is somewhere in the next galaxy over." the spy said, watching five pairs of blue optics go wide.

"But that's impossible." Perceptor protested. "The Intergalactic Archives clearly state that the planets in the next galaxy are incapable of sustaining any form of life. The planets are either gaseous giants or merely spheres of rock a million degrees hot with no breathable atmospheres."

"I know; Bluestreak said the same thing." Mirage sighed. "But Megatron said that Prime is relatively nearby and when it comes to the locations of our troops, he doesn't lie to his own."

"That is a very good point." Silverbolt conceded, nodding.

"Let's do it!" Air Raid shouted, pumped. "Let's do it! Let's go and do this thing! I wanna bust up some 'Con heads!"

Silverbolt pushed down on Air Raid's head, forcing him down.

"Let's not rush into this..." he started.

"Yes, let's not." Perceptor agreed. "I have no desire to partake in your madness. We should go about this rationally. The odds of this actually succeeding in the way we want it to is--"

"Don't say it." Mirage slapped a hand over the scientist's mouth. "Seriously Perceptor, just don't."

Perceptor looked extremely miffed as he removed the spy's hand.

"Now hold on." Red Alert held up a hand. "Who's to say that Megatron wasn't trying to throw us off? What if he knew Mirage was standing there and spouted a lie to put us off the trail?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Perceptor, what do the Archives say about the next galaxy?" the Security Director asked.

"They say very little. There is no life beyond this point." Perceptor answered, rather darkly, his arms crossed. "This the last stop before venturing into a wasteland, they say. You have to be completely fragged in the processors -- pardon my language -- to even consider exploring there. Many have been sent in, in an attempt to map it out; to understand and make the unknown known, but few return and most of those who do are too traumatized to chronicle their experiences."

He made the words sound ominous.

"Tell me that's just a story." Silverbolt requested slowly. "Tell me that we're not standing on the edge of something here."

Perceptor shook his head. "I'm sorry, but the Archives state very clearly--"

"We don't have time for this." Red Alert interrupted, pulling out his rifle. "We have comrades who are in need of a rescue and we won't get that done if we stand here arguing over sparkling tales. Now roll out."

Everyone stared at him.

"What?"

"Prime says it better." Slingshot told him.

Resisting the urge to hit the Aerialbot over the head, the Security Director led the way back to the ship.

It was Octane who was standing guard at the entrance, looking extremely bored and occasionally eyeing the passer-bys with no small amount of contempt; angry at them because they got to walk around and explore while he was stuck on sentry duty.

The Autobots couldn't very well mob him; not around so many witnesses, because then **they** would look like the bad guys. Judging solely from the total lack of reaction from the crowd, the faction symbols were completely unknown this far out.

Red Alert went through a series of hand gestures that was recognized by most Special Ops teams, only he did it badly, not being trained in Special Ops. Mirage knew what the Security Director was getting at, though, and he activated his electro-disrupter to turn invisible and snuck up to the _Nemesis_.

Octane never turned from his vigil on the crowd as Mirage crept past him onto the ship and into the cargo hold. It was remarkably sparse, but this was only part of it. There was a larger room behind this one and there was probably more stuff crammed in there.

Mirage walked over to a few empty crates that were piled on top of one another. He looked around, shrugged, and gave the stack a very hard jab with his finger. Predictably, the crates toppled over and clanged off the floor loudly and the invisible spy stepped back a little ways. Not a moment later, Octane came into view, walking warily towards the downed crates. He peered at them before poking them experimentally with the barrel of his rifle. Just to mess with him a little, Mirage gave the crate a good kick.

Octane jumped back when this happened, now staring at the crates very suspiciously. Mirage took the opportunity to adjust the setting on his rifle to "stun" and popped the Decepticon right in the back. He caught the triple-changer before he hit the floor and dragged him to some dark corner to get him out of the way. Then he went back to the entrance where he flickered into view for a few seconds.

The rest of the Autobots left their hiding places and walked across the platform, trying to exude the sense of 'yes, we belong here' and entered the _Nemesis_ as casually as possible. Perceptor almost ruined it by looking very jumpy.

Once they were safely inside, Red Alert pulled out the datapad again.

"Down that corridor." he said, pointing to the corridor in question. "There should be a lift on the third right."

As he moved down hall ahead of the others, Mirage decided that Megatron was overconfident. There didn't appear to be a single camera around or motion-detectors or sensors, or anything to detect the presence of intruders. It was like he didn't expect that any Autobots had the gears to infiltrate **his** flagship.

One day, that overconfidence was sure to be his downfall

Mirage was certain of it.

However, they made it as far as the first junction when the alarms suddenly blared to life and drones automatically spilled out of panels in the walls and ceiling and began to fire on the intruders.

Well, so much for overconfidence on Megatron's part.

With a cheerful whoop, Air Raid dove forward into the largest collection of drones, already firing with merry abandon at anything that was small, silver and arrow-shaped. Red Alert, Slingshot and Silverbolt made short work of the drones and Perceptor predictably hung back, only moving when a drone came too close.

Being invisible, a few of the shots only skimmed Mirage and the rest missed him completely. He ran ahead of the team, taking out any of the drones that showed their ugly faces. He hadn't seen any actual Decepticons yet, but he imagined that they were on their way.

Sensing where the blasts were coming from, the drones clustered around his general location, firing away, almost recklessly. They only had a basic attack/defend program -- their design having been based off the much-larger Sweeps -- so those was their only thoughts. Mirage picked them off one by one, but then one got in a very lucky shot.

He yelped in pain as his electro-disrupter fizzled when the energy bolt hit it. The complicated piece of machinery short-circuited and shut down, rendering him visible on the normal spectrum again. Slag, this was going to take forever to fix.

The drones re-aimed their small cannons for a more accurate shot.

Clutching the malfunctioning piece of machinery as it spat sparks all over his insides, Mirage brought his rifle to bear.

They weren't taking him down without a fight.

* * *


	30. Chpt29: Misinformation

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Misinformation

* * *

One floor down in the brig, Bluestreak had been startled out of a light recharge when the alarms had begun to blare over their heads and promptly shook Hound awake.

"Rescue's here." the green scout commented happily, wiping the grit from his optics, smiling when he heard the alarms. He banged on the wall. "Sideswipe! Wake up! The rescue squad made it in!"

"'Mup...!" Sideswipe slurred. Shifting and scraping could be heard from his cell, followed by a sleepy groan.

"I hope they can make it down here." Bluestreak said, staring up at the ceiling. "It would be really bad if they didn't."

They listened to the muffled sound of gunfire for a few moments longer. If the Constructicons hadn't shown up, then the rescue squad was probably tied up with the automatic drones.

"I'm gonna see what I can do about jimmying the lock." Bluestreak announced a minute later, pulling some thin metal instrument with a twisted end out of subspace and heading over for the door.

"Careful Blue." Hound advised, watching as Bluestreak carefully reached between the bars. There was just enough clearance for his arm to fit through and he started fiddling with the lock. Decepticons had implemented all the new shiny designs when it came to brigs. In the case of the _Nemesis_, a very specifically designed key fit into a keyhole which would then unlock the number pad on the cell door. Just picking the lock wasn't enough, but you couldn't access the keypad until the lock was undone. Bereft of their weapons, this was all they could do.

"I think I almost got it." Bluestreak said delightedly after another minute. "Hold on-- Hold on--"

"Blue, your arm--" Hound started to say, noticing the increasingly smaller proximity between the sniper's arm and the bar.

*****_**BzzzzZZZT!**_*****

There was a loud crackle of electricity. Bluestreak let out a yelp of pain as he was thrown away from the bars and hit the floor.

"Bluestreak!" Hound was at his side.

"Did he shock himself?" Sideswipe asked, sounding interested in the proceedings for the first time.

Hound frowned. "What do you think happened?"

Bluestreak just lay there on his back, clutching his swimming head and waiting for his processor to stop shouting brilliantly red warnings at him. His fuel tank tried to make a bid for freedom and he couldn't help but wonder why. There was barely anything in it. Their remaining energon had been rationed so tightly he couldn't exactly remember the last time he had gotten any.

"Can he still stand?" asked a wonderfully familiar voice and Mirage strolled into sight, blackened in a number of places and holding a hand just under his chassis where his electro-disrupter was located. A few sparked issued from between his fingers as he moved. But he was still functioning.

"Mirage, you made it!" the green/gray scout said happily.

"I think I'm gonna be okay..." Bluestreak groaned, carefully getting back to his feet.

"Whoo." Sideswipe cheered unenthusiastically.

Mirage sort of limped over to the locked cell door and Bluestreak's failed attempt to trip the lock. He had cracked Decepticon prison cells a few times and he knew precisely how to manage it. He put his rifle point-blank with the lock and fired.

The door swung open, black and smoking.

Then he moved over to free Sideswipe.

Sideswipe was laying flat on his back on the floor of the cell, looking like someone had tried to slag him a few times. Mirage blasted open the door and walked over to the red twin.

"How are feeling?" the spy asked kindly. Sideswipe had the look of someone who was about to fall apart.

"The Decepticons are trying to kill me through boredom." Sideswipe said flatly, lifting an arm to wave his hand vaguely. "I haven't even had Starscream to laugh at."

"I'm starting to believe that Starscream is not here." Mirage said, already moving to pull the warrior to his feet. "Megatron spoke as though the leading trine of Seekers have gone AWOL."

"Really? All three of them?" Sideswipe looked both interested and somewhat put-out that he couldn't do anything to the Seekers himself.

"Evidently, there is now a 'shoot on sight' policy in place in the case of the Seekers." Mirage explained. "Sideswipe, your right arm is feeling rather loose."

"Yeah, try not to shake it around too much. Mixmaster tried to snap it off. He didn't manage it, obviously, but he definitely broke something. He got a little-- ah, annoyed, when I told him he was a glitched-out, saggy-afted femme."

Mirage didn't respond to that as he helped Sideswipe hobble out of the cell. He appeared to be having trouble bending his left knee joint properly too. Fortunately, the shoulder and the knee seemed to be the extent of his worst injuries. The rest was comprised of the general aches that resulted from not having proper repair-work done.

Outside in the corridor, Bluestreak staggered sideways, forcing Hound to catch him before he hit the floor. The sniper lost the fight with his systems purged a mixture of grayish-blue energon and some other liquid that probably wasn't supposed to be thrown up.

"Bluestreak?" Mirage questioned, worried.

"Okay... I don't feel so good anymore." the sniper moaned, shaky hands wiping away the dregs of the fluid.

"It is that virus?" Hound inquired and the other mech nodded.

Much earlier in the course of the war, Bluestreak had been injected with a nasty virus the likes of which Ratchet had never encountered before. The medic's anti-viral programs were enough to keep it locked up tight and he had spent years just chipping away at it; slowing down its effects to an impossibly sluggish pace. But he hadn't found the code that would get rid of it completely. As near as anyone could tell, the virus caused the mech's systems to reject any form of energon that went into it, resulting in death by starvation, and induced a general feeling that was not unlike the flu virus in humans. The electric shock must have let it out of "isolation."

Fortunately, once they got back to First Aid, the young medic would be able to put it back where it belonged.

"Never mind. We have to get out of here fast!" Mirage snapped, already half-dragging a staggering Sideswipe towards the exit. "Red Alert's plan is only half-assed!"

The four of them hurried out of the brig as fast as they could after -- breaking their weapons out of a locked cabinet -- with Sideswipe's gimpy leg and Bluestreak's sudden onset body-wide tremors and inability to walk properly. The noise of blaster fire still sounded from over their heads, but it didn't seem quite as loud as before. Nonetheless, they reached the lift with all haste and piled in. The trip up was short and the doors dinged open a few kliks later and five guns held by the Constructicons were suddenly aimed right at them. For some reason, Mirage noticed the distinct lack of Bonecrusher and wondered why.

"Aw slag." Sideswipe hissed.

"Out of the lift." Scrapper said, jerking the barrel of his gun towards the corridor.

The four Autobots staggered out.

"Guns." the Constructicon instructed, pointing to the floor. "Kick them away."

They reluctantly gave up their weapons.

And then the Constructicons mobbed them as one, pushing them to the ground amid much yelling and shouting, shackling their hands behind their backs. Sideswipe put his extensive curse-word vocabulary to use; telling the Constructicons in great detail just where they could shove it and how far in it could go. This earned him a hard kick in the face.

"Your first mistake was thinking you could get away." Scrapper said, glaring at them. "Your second mistake was insulting us." He laughed mirthlessly. "And your third mistake..."

It couldn't have been just Mirage who felt the temperature drop by about fifty degrees in the space of a few seconds. Beside him, he felt Sideswipe shiver, all possible insults dying in his vocalizer. No, it wasn't just him. The others had felt it too.

They sensed him coming before they ever saw him. The temperature drop was just the start. The light level didn't change, but the corridor suddenly _seemed_ darker. And then they felt the menace; like liquid evil; waves of it rolling towards them.

And **then** they saw Megatron.

There was no visible, outward change to the Decepticon lord, but something definitely was different. He seemed taller; less bulky somehow, walking with a more fluid grace that he had never possessed before. He looked more like a lord and less like a tyrant. Like he was someone you _wanted_ to follow.

It would be a cold day in the Pit and Unicron would be passing out sweets to all the good little children of the universe before any of the Autobots would ever willingly bow before Megatron.

It rankled at them now that they were lying at his feet.

"I believe this is yours." Megatron said, tossing a large lump of metal at them that took some minutes to recognize as Slingshot.

Short work had been made of the Aerialbot. Armor battered and melted and scorched and just plain missing in some places, wings torn off, legs bent and mangled; one arm ripped clean off at the elbow and energon smeared everywhere. His processor had gone straight to emergency protocols and had shut down the worst of the energon flow so he wouldn't bleed out, but that was only supposed to be a temporary state.

Slingshot barely made a sound as his body hit the floor. His remaining hand clutched his disconnected forearm; the largely undamaged arm curled around his chassis as to hold the armor there. It rattled loosely upon impact. The Aerialbot must have tried to take on Megatron by himself. He certainly wouldn't be repeating that any time soon.

"Constructicons, take them back to the brig!" Megatron ordered in a loud voice. "I'll deal with them later!"

The Constructicons seized the unlucky Autobots and hauled them back down. Silverbolt, Air Raid and Red Alert were brought in a few breems later, each sporting plenty of damage as well.

"Slag, didn't I just get out of here?" Sideswipe wondered as he sank down to the floor beside his comrades.

"Okay, maybe that wasn't one of my better ideas." Red Alert admitted from where he was shut in with the Aerialbots, the two trying to staunch what was left of their wing-mate's bleeding.

"You got a plan B, Red?" Sideswipe asked snarkily.

"Show some respect!" Red Alert barked. "I'm still your commanding officer here!"

"Bite me! I'd rather be taking orders from Prowl!"

"Prowl isn't here! That leaves me in charge!"

"Then what do you suggest we do, oh mighty commander?! We're stuck in the brig with a Megatron who looks like he's been zapped uber-powerful by the AllSpark!"

A sudden silence fell over them, a terrifying thought occurring to all of them.

"Did they lose?" Hound wondered in a soft voice.

"No, they couldn't have." Mirage shook his head. "Prime doesn't go down that easily. They won. The AllSpark is safe. And Pit, they had Ironhide with them! They had to have won!"

There was a general murmur of agreement and some sniggering over their trigger-happy Weapons Specialist.

"Have you gotten any messages lately?" Sideswipe asked curiously. His new brig-mates all made negative sounds.

"This is not good." Red Alert said decisively with a light thud that suggested that he had slapped his fist into the floor or wall. "We are flying absolutely blind! We don't know what sort of situation Optimus Prime is in! He could have sent a message for help! And we would not have known!"

"Don't beat yourself up, Red." Silverbolt was trying to sound encouraging, but the state of his wing-mate had him nervous and worried. "But could you put your hand back where you had it earlier?"

"Hey, how's Slingshot?" Mirage asked.

There wasn't a reply. There didn't need to be a reply.

"Hey..." Sideswipe reached out and tapped Hound's shoulder. "You said you had Perceptor and First Aid here too, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then where are they?"

First Aid was still back on the shuttle, but Perceptor wasn't here.

* * *

When it came to waiting, the idea of it didn't particularly bother First Aid. Sure, he had been under the tutelage of probably the most impatient medic ever to grace Cybertron, but one needed quite a lot of patience to properly deal with Ratchet. Patience was something First Aid possessed in spades.

It had been waning somewhat as of late, but he could still dig deep down and find a reserve of it.

And the fact that he didn't have to put up with any of his current team mates right now was helping greatly.

So he was able to lounge in a chair near to the communications array and then he noticed that a light on it was blinking.

"An incoming message?..."

The young medic sat up and hit the button to receive the message. A very familiar voice issued from the speakers, one he was glad to hear from, because it was good news for Bluestreak.

"_This is Autobot Prowl and I'm sending this transmission from the Solarise planetary system in spiral arm Delta-3, galaxy designated MW-1A Uninhabitable--_" A rather derisive snort-- "_As if... By the Intergalactic Archives. The attached message is from Optimus Prime, containing news of Megatron's defeat and the fate of the AllSpark._"

First Aid just stared at the array without actually hearing anything as Prime's deep voice explained what had happened on some distant planet called "Earth".

"Megatron's _defeat_?" he finally whispered. "How could he have been defeated if he's _here_ now?"

"_Perceptor to First Aid! First Aid, come in!_"

The young medic jumped at the voice that screeched into his comm. It was practically coming right into his audial.

"_First Aid!_"

"I'm here!" The medic turned his attention away from the array to frantic voice. "Perceptor, what's going on?"

"_Get off the shuttle and hide! Now!_" Perceptor shouted, somehow sounding more panicked than before.

"Perceptor--" First Aid started.

"_MEGATRON IS COMING YOUR WAY!!_"

First Aid lurched from the sheer volume. Perceptor was scared shitless; that much was obvious in his voice alone. He had never heard the scientist sound so petrified before; as though he honestly feared for his life.

Or fearing for First Aid's life.

The young medic scarpered.

No, one did not take chances when it came to Megatron. The mech was ruthless and bloodthirsty and if you could not afford to fight him, then you ran away.

First Aid could almost hear the very air around him humming as he tore off the shuttle. He caught a flash of something silver in the artificial sky over his head and dove for the nearest thing large enough to hide his bulk, pulling his limbs in and ducking his head. He heard a distinctive whining noise and he filed the sound away in his memory banks for future reference. Not kliks later, an explosion of fire and shrapnel shook three platforms in both directions all the way down to their supporting struts.

The station shuddered.

There was triumphant laughter.

And then the sound of a transformation.

The hum in the air grew less and less until it was gone.

First Aid tentatively unshuttered his optics -- and discovered that he had taken refuge in a large garbage receptacle; oh well, he had hidden in worse places -- and carefully peered over the rim of the receptacle. Black smoke obscured the immediate area until the fans and vents kicked in and started to suck the smoke away. He saw what had become of the shuttle.

All that was left of it was a black smoking pile of scrap metal.

It had been reduced to a hunk of charred metal, small tongues of flame licking at the surfaces that weren't black.

Sirens wailed over the heads of the crowd. The emergency crews were already responding. They appeared and began to spray retardant foam over the flames to prevent an even bigger accident. First Aid looked around the crowd that was beginning to gather while the station authorities were holding them back and climbed out of the receptacle, shedding bits of garbage, some that might have come from the aft-end of the universe. He certainly did not want to know where this small lump of green putty that was sticking to the underside of his arm close to his shoulder joint had come from. He threw it aside -- he didn't see it scuttle off on its own to seek out another armpit to occupy -- and then he tapped into his comm.

"Perceptor, I'm by a garbage receptacle."

There was a strange squeak from somewhere in the crowd and a wild-opticed, red/blue mech emerged from the crowd of beings and attached itself to the young medic.

"Er-- Yes, I missed you too, Perceptor." First Aid said, trying to remove the scientist's arms from his person. As it turned out, he needn't have tried, for Perceptor pulled back suddenly.

"You smell most foul." he observed, making a face, back to his normal self. Then he latched on the medic's arms again with a sense of urgency. "They've been captured!"

"Who?"

"Everyone!"

"Everyone?" First Aid repeated.

"Red Alert's 'rescue attempt' went pear-shaped! Megatron put in an appearance and-- pardon my language -- completely slagged Slingshot!" Perceptor said with a shudder. "Two of the triple-changers arrived as well! It all went downhill after that!"

"Wait, what about Slingshot?" First Aid asked, his instincts and worry jumping.

"The Aerialbot was becoming quite badly damaged by the time I believed that a tactical withdraw was in order." Perceptor explained hurriedly. "As I have received no communications from the others, it can only be presumed that they had been detained by the Decepticons."

"And you saw Megatron with your own optics?" First Aid asked. He wanted confirmation.

"Of course. I have no reason to lie." Perceptor said, sounding a little uppity.

"Someone's lying, then." First Aid said, frowning. "Or at least misinformed."

"Pardon?" Perceptor quirked a brow ridge at him.

"Before you commed me, there was an incoming message; pre-recorded and it was from Prowl." First Aid explained, watching the scientist's optics light up. "He was transmitting from the Solarise planetary system in spiral arm Delta-3--"

"Galaxy designated MW-1A Uninhabitable by the Intergalactic Archives." Perceptor finished impatiently. "I'm familiar with what information the Archives contain about the Solarise system. Uninhabited and uninhabitable. Gas giants and chunks of rock with atmospheres too toxic to support any known life forms. For what reason was he transmitting from there?"

"The attached message was from Optimus Prime." First Aid said. "And I think the Intergalactic Archives is a little behind with their information. According to Prime, there's sentient life in the Solarise system. Sentient life that assisted in the _destruction_ of Megatron."

It would later occur to First Aid that this was the first time he had ever seen the normally rather unflappable Perceptor extremely flabbergasted. He had to remind himself that, as a scientist, Perceptor routinely worked with the cold hard facts. He was currently faced with the double conundrum of Megatron being alive and also claimed dead by two senior officers as well as the apparent existence of sentient life in the Solarise system, even though every other reference source claimed that no such thing existed.

Poor Perceptor. It would be a minor miracle if he didn't pop more than two circuits before this was all over.

"C'mon, we need to get out of the open." First Aid said, grabbing the scientist's elbow and pulling him into the cover of the buildings.

* * *

Soundwave watched Megatron pace back and forth across the command deck of the _Nemesis_, furious about the Autobots who had snuck aboard **his** ship almost unnoticed, furious over Octane's negligence -- the triple-changer was currently nursing a series of dents that peppered his helm and shoulders -- and just furious at the whole Autobot faction in general.

The Constructicons and the triple-changers and Barricade flinched every time Megatron so much as twitched in their general direction. Starscream was no longer here for Megatron to beat up on and/or berate for screwing up and/or take the blame, so they were afraid that any of them could become the new punching bag and woe betide them if/when that happened.

It **had** to happen sooner or later.

"Those incompetent, miserable wretches won't live to see another sun rise..." Megatron was grumbling.

One didn't need to be telepathic to feel the rage the Decepticon lord was exuding. Even with as strong as Soundwave's shields were right now, he was standing well away. Megatron was broadcasting his thoughts so loudly, it was making his circuits hurt.

The blue mech didn't like this new Megatron very much. He was ruder, colder, he seemed much more interested in just blowing things up rather than working out a real plan and he just seemed somehow more insane than before. It had been a full joor before Soundwave was able to convince Megatron that going out and blowing up the Earth and everything on it was a Bad Idea. That system couldn't be a good place to build a new empire if they took out the foundations.

His insight had served him well. Something sinister was going on with Megatron and Soundwave wanted back-up if the situation went to the Pit.

He didn't like nor did he trust the new Megatron very much at all.

"Soundwave!" Megatron whipped around, stomping towards the Communications Officer. "Where are your blasted cassettes?"

Soundwave frowned behind the face mask. Any insults against his cassettes were insults against him.

At least keeping his voice sounding polite would be easy.

"Unknown, Lord Megatron." he said. "I shall retrieve them."

"There is at least one Autobot running around still." Megatron said. "Dispatch Laserbeak. Seek and destroy. The rest of us will be on foot."

"Yes, Lord Megatron." Soundwave bowed his head, fighting off a migraine that was starting to make its presence known. He turned on his heel as quick as he could without appearing rude and left the command deck, shoulders falling as he exited the influence of Megatron's wild thoughts. He made his way down to residence corridors where it was a great deal noisier, but this noise was much easier to deal with. Judging from the sounds, the twins were tormenting Ravage. Again. Fantastic.

A raucous shouting of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" came through both his audials and the psychic link he had to each cassette. He opened his door to his quarters -- larger than most -- and found a snarling, screaming ball of black and silver rolling around on the floor. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak were perched up out of the way and Rumble and Ratbat were jumping on the recharge berth, all egging their brothers on. With the ease of much practice, Soundwave reached into the melee and separated Frenzy and Ravage.

"Hi B-Boss!" Frenzy chirped, suddenly very polite. "F-Fancy seeing-g y-y-you h-here!"

Ravage didn't say anything, apparently trying to maintain as much dignity as possible while being grasped by the scruff of his neck.

"Must you behave as though you are newly sparked?" Soundwave asked, glaring at his two creations.

"S-Stu-pid kitty st-started it!" Frenzy hollered, jabbing a finger at Ravage.

'_I started nothing, you skittering glitch!'_ Ravage snapped. _'It was your inane chattering--'_

"Shut i-it kit-t-t-ty!" Frenzy tried to take a swipe at the mechanoid feline, but only made himself swing back and forth in Soundwave's grip.

'_You shut it!'_ Ravage retorted, attempting to do the same thing with the same results.

"Both of you cease speaking this instant." Soundwave ordered firmly and the two cassettes fell silent. He gloried in the silence for a moment. The only time they weren't loud was when they were recharging and he was never awake to enjoy it. It was going to be very silent soon.

He suddenly found himself hesitating on what he was about to say. He had never ordered this of his cassettes before.

The six of them noticed their creator's sudden hesitance and tilted their heads curiously.

No, he had to do this. For their safety.

He set Frenzy and Ravage back on their feet. They both looked back up at their creator apprehensively.

"Hide." he ordered.

"Boss?" Rumble questioned, exchanging uncertain looks with his siblings.

"Hide." Soundwave hated repeating himself, but he would do it now. "Megatron is unstable and I no longer trust him. Hide aboard the _Nemesis_. Stay away from the separation points. Stay away from Megatron. That's an order."

Ravage looked up to see if the sky was falling. He knew that something like that would happen before Soundwave ever stopped trusting Megatron. Maybe the sky had already fallen and he just didn't know yet.

But something was wrong, clearly. The feeling had been building for some time now; a mounting sense of distrust and uneasiness around Megatron and that had been bleeding over the links. Soundwave had always had their best interests at spark; what good creator didn't? If it was in their best interests to hide from Megatron, then hide they would.

Automatically taking charge as the oldest of the cassettes, Ravage started walking out the door. Laserbeak plucked Ratbat off the berth before the youngest cassette could squeak out a protest and swept out the door, Buzzsaw following just off his sister's wing. To their credit, neither of the twins voiced a complaint, but hurried after their eldest brother. Ravage paused and looked back at his creator.

'_Don't worry Soundwave.'_ he said. _'I'll make sure that none of us get caught.'_

"I have all faith in you, Ravage." Soundwave replied. Ravage gave in to a brief moment of affection and rubbed his shoulders against his creator's shins and was rewarded by a brief, but equally-affectionate stroke.

Then Ravage sprinted away to herd his siblings into the relative safety of the air vents.

One by one, Soundwave felt the psychic links close off, leaving him more alone in his head than ever before. He regretted it, but he knew it was necessary. If he didn't know their locations, then there was no way that Megatron could find out.

When he was sure they were well gone, he got on the comm.

"Laserbeak dispatched, Lord Megatron."

* * *


	31. Chpt30: ImplodeExplode

**A/N:** Ah... The end of an arc. Another milestone. Thirty chapters and counting. But it also means that we're running low on already-written chapters. I'm not quite feeling the magic at the moment, but hey! _Revenge of the Fallen_ comes out -- what, next week? If it has the same effect on me that the first movie did... WHOO! I foresee this story easily surpassing forty chapters. It's rapidly gaining the title of the longest story I've ever written. I just need to get the _Transformers_ plot-bunnies biting again. They're biting for all **but** _Transformers_.

I'm back on hiatus with this chapter. Frankly I have no idea when I'll return to this story. Ideally, it'll be when the third arc is finished (or very close to it). In the meantime, I might put up some of the other madness I've been working on.

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ is property of HasTak and some other companies whose names elude me.

* * *

**'Til All Are One**

Chapter Thirty: Implode/Explode

* * *

"Do you have a plan?" Perceptor asked.

"No! No, I don't have a plan!" First Aid hissed, a squeak rising in his voice, much to his annoyance. "I don't have the faintest fragging clue that could even lead to the formation of a plan! Perceptor!" He seized the mech's collar armor. "Let me recap the situation for you! Everyone's been captured! The shuttle has been blown up! I have no doubts that the Decepticons will be searching for us! It's up to **you** and **me** to save their afts! And we're not fighters! At this point, all I want to do is stay alive!"

"And to accomplish that," Perceptor started. "We will require the assistance of our comrades."

First Aid's face sagged.

"You're telling me that in order to stay alive, we need to save the others in a suicide run that could potentially kill us?"

"Allow me to be the first to admit that this strikes me as a paradox of sorts."

"No, no. 'Paradox' isn't quite the word I want. This is pretty contradictory when you think about it, but that's not the word I'm looking for."

"Then enlighten me to our situation's true nature. I'm drawing a blank, unfortunately."

"I don't know what it is, but 'paradox' is not the word I want! A conundrum?"

"Perhaps... 'oxymoron'?"

"Irony?-- That's it; that's the word I'm looking for."

"Yes, I agree that our situation is very ironic." Perceptor nodded, arms crossed. "But we still need to formulate a plan if we are to be successful."

"Okay..." First Aid paced the width of the alley they were currently standing in. "Let's go over the facts again. Everyone's been captured, we don't have a ride anymore, and the Decepticons are probably out searching for us as we speak."

"Meaning the ship is abandoned, save for perhaps a guard or two." Perceptor pointed out. "It would be beneficial even right now to retreat to its general vicinity. They will not think to search for us there."

"Good thinking. Okay, so we get in, incapacitate whoever's on guard duty, get everyone out and then..." The young medic trailed off, falling into uncertainty.

"And then transportation becomes an issue." Perceptor finished. "Ours has been reduced to scrap metal."

First Aid paced back and forth angrily, his processor trying to muddle through the problem and come with a good solution or ten. Not for the first time, he wished he had Prowl's battle computer.

Stealing a ship was no doubt out of the question. Pit, they would be fragging lucky to find another ship that could accommodate anyone of their size. In fact, the only ship in the dockyard that was of Cybertronian design was the _Nemesis_--

_Oh no... No, we would have to be insane... That's about as suicidal as you could possibly get..._

"Perceptor," He turned to the pondering scientist. "What is we were to, say, knock off two cyber-sparrows with one energy bolt? A solution for our transportation issues and a way to rescue our comrades at the same time?"

"First Aid," Perceptor was already frowning. "The only way we could possibly accomplish that would be to-- No."

He had come to the same conclusion.

"That is begging for death." the scientist said firmly.

"I'm aware of that, but that's the only way I can see." First Aid said. "And besides!" Time to whip out the big guns. "The Solarise system is where we need to go and that's a long way from here! The only way we're going to reach it is through the transwarp drive that the _Nemesis_ possesses!"

"You are truly insane." Perceptor commented mildly.

"Do you have a better idea?" First Aid asked pointedly.

Unfortunately for Perceptor, he didn't. He was a scientist, not a fighter. The klik he had seen Megatron, he had bolted for his very existence.

"This is utter madness!" the scientist hissed.

It was a few breems later. The duo had snuck back to the side of the docking yard where the _Nemesis_ was docked, cold and serene and everything a Decepticon flagship should be.

"This is utter, utter madness!" Perceptor hissed again.

"And we'll fail if you don't stop hissing like a leaky pipe!" First Aid snapped. "Now tell me. Do you see anyone outside?"

Perceptor looked over the top of the trash receptacle -- these things were large and everywhere -- towards the entrance of the ship.

"No." he said after a moment's contemplation.

"Good. Now what happened inside?" First Aid asked.

"We made it to the first junction before the alarms went off." Perceptor recounted. "There were attack drones. A good deal were abrogated before the Constructicons appeared--"

"Perceptor?"

"Yes?"

"'Abrogated' means...?"

"Destroyed." Perceptor huffed. "The Constructicons appeared and only moments later, Megatron appeared as well. I should warn you; he is equipped with a very powerful fusion cannon. I did not remain for much longer afterwards."

"I gathered that." First Aid said dryly. "But from what you're saying, I guess that the drones won't be much of a problem now?"

"Oh, I assume that there was some who escaped destruction by sheer chance, but I imagine that their numbers are severely depleted now." Perceptor replied. "No, I don't believe that they will be much of a problem for us."

"Good." First Aid steeled himself for the most insane thing he had ever done in his life. "Okay, let's move in or roll out or whatever. Let's go!"

"Wait, First Aid." Perceptor grabbed his elbow before he could even move. "Perhaps there is a better way to go about doing this? One with a lesser probability of us getting killed?!"

"Perceptor, you know how everyone's been saying lately that I've been channeling Ratchet?"

"To a startling degree, I might add. Your fluid pressure levels have been a bit higher than what they normally are."

"Yeah well, if you don't get your aft in gear right now, you're going to get a sneak peek of what Ratchet might do to you when you see him again!"

Perceptor didn't flinch because First Aid was not nearly as frightening as the CMO; even if the young medic's infinite well of patience did indeed possess a bottom. He had expected that, in all honesty. One did not live with others for an extended period of time in close quarters under stressful conditions without said others completely grinding your gears into dust. It was a wonder that First Aid still had any patience left.

_Perhaps it would be in my best interest to do as he instructs._ Perceptor mused. _He is currently the highest-ranked officer after Red Alert, after all... _

So once again, Perceptor found himself walking down towards the proverbial Mouth of Doom, hoping, praying to Primus and all the gods above who cared enough to listen that this wouldn't end with his body parts strewn across the length and breadth of creation.

* * *

"Soundwave..." Barricade's low voice floated to his audials and the police interceptor sidled up beside him. "Whatever plan you've got, it might be a good time to put it into action!"

"Negative." Soundwave replied. "The plan cannot begin. The pieces are still not all in place."

"What are you waiting for?" Barricade asked, scowling. "If you're waiting for Megatron to crack completely, then you might want to get a move on! He's not that far away from totally losing it!"

Soundwave didn't say anything. He was understandably reluctant to engage his plan. Between Megatron's growing insanity and the fact there were still a great deal of Decepticons loyal to him, the Communications Officer could easily be fragged by anyone. Disrupting a power-base and taking down the loyalists wasn't an easy thing to do; as evidenced by Starscream many, many times in the past. It was a shame that the Seeker seemed to be terminated. Soundwave wouldn't admit it out loud, but he could have probably used the jet's help for this. At least until his back-up arrived.

But he just might be able to sway the Constructicons to his side. They were already unhappy with the Decepticon lord. They just needed a few pushes in the right direction.

"So what are you waiting for?" Barricade asked, irritated. "I refuse to jump into this blind, scrap-for-brains!"

There was still silence from the blue mech.

"You didn't even dispatch Laserbeak, did you--"

Soundwave moved faster than the transformed Saleen could react; seizing him around the neck and pushing him away from the main drag of the crowd. When they had a modicum of privacy, Soundwave disengaged the face mask and spoke in a whisper.

"Listen!" he hissed, because there was a voice modulator in the mask that produced the monotonous tone. "I will not tell you anything because I do not want the plan to fail. The more who know it, the higher the probability of it failing. All I ask is that you do what I say, when I say it. No questions asked. Do you understand?"

Barricade nodded quickly, not sure if he was more disturbed by the fact that Soundwave actually sounded like a normal mech underneath that mask, or because he only disengaged the mask when he felt that he could trust the mech he was talking to.

He had learned **that** from Frenzy.

It was a funny feeling, realizing that someone trusted you when you had never been considered trustworthy before.

Barricade must have been entertaining more mutinous thoughts than even he had realized.

Soundwave let him go and the mask slid back into place -- just as the Constructicons came around the corner. Scrapper had already crossed his arms and he looked utterly determined. The rest of the Constructicons wore similar expressions. Scrapper's optics flicked from Soundwave to Barricade and back again.

"We know that you're planning something that only Starscream would be stupid enough to do, Soundwave. And you're doing it right under Megatron's nose." the lead Constructicon said. "We just wanted you to know that it's not going to happen."

_Great._ Barricade thought, irritated. _Looks we're going to be leaving a trail of bodies..._

Scrapper glowered deeply. "You're not doing it without us. We've been talking and we want in on it."

Soundwave let himself smile, because he knew no one would see it.

All the pieces of his little plan were starting to fall into place.

* * *

"Geez Bluestreak, you're starting to feel really warm." Sideswipe commented, feeling the hotter-than-usual air blow from the sniper's vents. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

In lieu of a response, Bluestreak just shrugged. There was nothing he could do about the virus except sit back and let the anti-viral programs work. He cursed at himself for getting zapped. The surge of electricity had dragged the virus out of its little cage so it could wreak merry havoc on his systems. At least the damn thing was only at half its former strength.

The lack of good energon probably wasn't helping matters much at all. Their dispenser aboard the shuttle had been overtaxed and the poor thing had been spitting out increasingly lower quality energon a lot lately. The batch might have been going bad; that would explain the weird taste.

Bluestreak just huddled against the twin's leg and shivered convulsively.

"Hey 'Bolt, how's Slingshot holding up over there?" Hound asked, wincing as he shifted. He had taken a bad hit to the back of his right leg.

"Got the all bleeding stopped, at least, and I think he's stable." Silverbolt replied. He still sounded nervous. "But I'd really feel a lot better with a patch-job done."

Sideswipe snorted. "Who wouldn't?"

"Please shut up Sideswipe." Mirage requested, his optics shuttered. "I'm trying to think of a way out of this."

"A way to get out of this?" Sideswipe repeated. "And just how do you plan on doing that?"

"I don't know; that's what I'm trying to figure out." Mirage said, flashing the red twin a daggered look.

"Hey, I don't know if you've noticed this or not with your head up your aft, but both the Constructicons and Megatron are gonna be on our skidplates if we so much as shake them in their general direction!" Sideswipe snapped.

"I **have** noticed, thank you very much!" Mirage snapped back in a very ill-temper. "I'm trying to think of a way that will get the Decepticons off our skidplates long enough for us to get out of here! I suggest you put that underdeveloped processor of yours to the same task!"

"Oh, you wanna go?" Sideswipe asked with a challenging glare, clenching a fist. "I'll take you down, right here, right now!"

"Oh, not with the state you're in right now!" Mirage said, crossing his arms.

"Knock it off over there!" Red Alert shouted. "This is no time for in-fighting!"

"Well excuse me for being in a bad mood!" Sideswipe rolled his optics. "I just haven't seen my brother in some-odd months! And I miss him! There! I said it!"

"We all have things we miss!" Mirage said, scowling.

"Oh, you miss your precious tower?" Sideswipe taunted mockingly. "Miss the high-life? Miss watching the rest of us scrounge around in the muck below?"

"Why you--! That is **it**!" Mirage was on his feet. Sideswipe managed to stand after some struggling.

"C'mon!" The red twin crooked a finger. "I'll whip your aft from here to Cybertron and back!"

"I'd like to see you try!" Mirage challenged, bringing his fists up.

"Mirage! Sideswipe!" Hound interposed his body between them. "For the love of Primus, would you knock it off?! This isn't helping our situation!"

"**He** isn't helping!" Mirage pointed a finger the red twin, looking to his friend for support.

"I said, knock it off!" Red Alert repeated, pounding a fist on the wall that divided the cells.

"Shut up Red!" Sideswipe shouted.

"Show some respect!" the Security Director barked. "Sideswipe, I order you to sit your aft right back down! Mirage, you too!"

"Oh yeah! Come over here and make us!" Sideswipe sneered, pulling a face at the wall.

"C'mon guys, this isn't the time to be fighting--" Hound tried to reason with them, a hand on their chassis.

"No! He's going down!" Mirage said angrily, fighting to get around the scout's hand. "I've had enough of him poking fun at my previous lifestyle! I'm here now and that's what matters!"

"Maybe if you had put your spark into it from the beginning..." Sideswipe let it hang teasingly and Mirage just leapt on him with a battle-howl. The red twin was quick to fight back and the situation went on a downhill slide from there.

Somewhere amidst all the yelling and insults and flying fists and feet and the orders from Red Alert to cut it out and trying to ignore the closed-in feel Hound was creating by keeping him protected from the flying fists, Bluestreak felt something very important.

"Hound?" he tugged at the green/gray scout's elbow.

"What is it, Blue?" Hound barely pulled his optics away from the two angry mechs brawling on the floor.

"The floor's shaking."

Hound's attention shifted downwards where he noticed that the floor was indeed shaking. Vibrating, more like. Then he jumped forward and started pulling Mirage and Sideswipe apart.

"C'mon you two! Knock it off! Knock it off!"

"Oow!!" Sideswipe let out a sudden howl of pain. "Raj! My arm! Oh Primus, my arm! Let go of it!"

"Do you take it back?" Mirage asked, not relinquishing his grip on the already-damaged right shoulder. "All of it?"

"Yes! All of it! I'm sorry for all the times me and Sunny made fun of you and we'll never do it again! Just let go already!"

Mirage let go and Sideswipe lurched out of the spy's reach, cradling his damaged shoulder.

"You aft-hole." he muttered with a glare.

"You ingrates." Red Alert muttered from the other cell.

"Does anyone else feel the floor shaking?" Hound asked.

That caused everyone's attention to shift downwards.

"The engines." Silverbolt said. "We're pulling out."

Sideswipe fixed Mirage with an uncharacteristically grim look.

"So much for getting out." he said.

And then he slid right back to the floor, crossed his arms and glared at the far wall.

* * *

He was moving along on the rooftops and that was why he noticed his ship was moving. Crimson optics whipped around, focusing on the spire of the _Nemesis_. It was leaving the shelter of the station ceiling, but why? There was no one on board.

Except for the Autobots.

"Constructicons! Triple-changers! Soundwave! Barricade!" Megatron barked into his comlink. "The Autobots have taken the _Nemesis_! Stop them! Stop them now!"

There was no reply, but he was sure that his soldiers were on their way. Megatron leapt from the rooftop, transforming as he did, and he ripped across the artificial sky.

No, no, no! They would not get away with **his** ship! He would kill them! He was going to kill them! All of them! He didn't care anymore!

But the _Nemesis_ had pulled out completely by the time he got anywhere near the platform and he landed with a howl, scaring away the rest of the passer-bys.

_And now they must be killed! Destroy them! Destroy them and give their mangled bodies to Prime as a gift!_

"Astrotrain! Take your team-mates and chase down the Autobots!"

"_Blitzwing and Octane haven't been cleared for space travel--_"

"Do I sound like I care?!" Megatron roared angrily. "Stop the Autobots before they get away with my ship! I don't care how you do it! Stop them! Stop them now!"

_The time for mercy has long since passed._

* * *

As much as they hated to admit it, the Autobots had a long history of running away.

It wasn't truly their fault, they could argue. The Decepticons had had access to stronger weaponry and could put more firepower behind them. They had also had the numbers to spread out and overwhelm, whereas the Autobots found that they accomplished more when in small groups of five or six. Chipping away at the base worked better for them than striking in one massive blow; a tactic Megatron favored.

There were times, however, where they would strike one massive blow.

And this, both Perceptor and First Aid felt, was one of them.

"Okay, let me see if I've got this correct." Red Alert started slowly, pacing back and forth across the command deck of the (almost depressingly easily) hijacked ship, the _Nemesis_. "We have just hijacked the Decepticon flagship -- _the_ Decepticon flagship -- and Megatron has no idea that this has happened."

"That seems to be the case, yes." Perceptor replied with a self-satisfied smile.

The Decepticon ship was now positioned "above" the space station, out of the path of those ships heading for the checkpoint. Everyone was staring at Perceptor and First Aid, both of whom were very proud of themselves for having done the hijacking and not even having to fire off a single shot.

The downside was, it probably hadn't gone unnoticed. They had forgotten to unhook the docking line and had been forced to snap it and it had done so loudly. Secondly, the steering for Decepticon ships was the reverse of their own, meaning when they had tried to leave the station, they had gone the opposite direction instead. Thirdly, the Decepticons had racked up quite a bill while they had been here and that hadn't been fully paid off yet.

Oh well. That was in Megatron's hands now.

"And what is stopping Megatron from taking remote control of the ship?" Red Alert asked, crossing his arms.

"That's where your input is required." Perceptor said, gesturing to a nearby console with a 'have at it' expression. Red Alert sat down instantly and started fabricating new access codes to lock the Decepticons out of their own systems.

On the other side of the deck--

"Aid, is this legal?" Air Raid asked as he cut the metal panel into the right size.

"I'm sure it's not, but this is the best I can do with the supplies I have." First Aid said, welding one of the new patches to Slingshot's battered frame. "Besides, I don't plan on returning this ship to the Decepticons."

The young medic had decided to strip off a few panels from the underside of the console and use them for the patch-job.

"Hey, when you're done over there, come check on Bluestreak." Sideswipe called, now in a bit better mood thanks to the fact he was finally out of the brig and there didn't appear to be a chance he would be going back there any time soon.

"Well, this is certainly one of the more hair-brained schemes ever put together by the Autobot forces." Mirage commented. He looked so serious sitting there in the gigantic throne-like chair in the center of the deck with both his arms and legs crossed and Hound just cracked up. It wasn't long before everyone was laughing as reality checked itself.

They had made off with the fragging _Nemesis_.

The Decepticon flagship was theirs and damn if they weren't feeling as giddy as Pit about it. This was most certainly one for the history books. They were probably the first group of Autobots to have done something as stupid as this.

Sure, they were rather beat up, suffering from various and numerous injuries, but they were all alive and that was the most important part.

What a story to tell the others when they met up with them.

"Encryption done." Red Alert announced triumphantly a breem or two later. "It's the best I can do on short notice, but there's still no way any Decepticon is getting through **my** firewalls! Not even Megatron himself!"

"Speaking of the Decepticons..." Silverbolt slid into the seat behind the helm. "We should leave before the _Nemesis_ is reported stolen."

"Good, yes!" Red Alert swiveled in his chair. "Silverbolt, take us out!"

"Decepticon steering is the reverse of ours." Perceptor informed the Aerialbot quickly.

Silverbolt nodded and pushed forward. The _Nemesis_ glided forward smoothly. Anyone who could move under their own power climbed into seats at certain consoles to do a job.

"Red, we're coming up on the security checkpoint." Silverbolt announced, already angling the ship down to join a line.

"Blow right through it!" Red Alert ordered.

"_WHAT?!?!!?_"

"I know this goes against every scrap of programming that I possess, but this isn't our ship." Red Alert explained, ignoring everyone's shocked expressions. "This is our only chance to reach Prime. As soon as we're in the clear, activate the transwarp drive and get us the frag out of here!"

"You are insane!" Sideswipe shouted. "Where the frag do you plan on taking us anyways?!"

"Anywhere but here!" Red Alert said. "Silverbolt, faster!"

"Oh-- kay." Silverbolt pushed in the throttle. The _Nemesis_ started to pick up speed.

"They're hailing us. They want us to stop!" Mirage shouted from near the communications array.

"Keep going." Red Alert said tersely

"They're going to fire a warning shot if we don't stop and get in line!" Mirage added.

"Holy slag! Look at those ion cannons!" Sideswipe yelped. "They're gonna fire **those** at us?! The fraggers are huge!"

"I didn't know a security checkpoint was allowed to have ion cannons that big." Air Raid remarked.

"They're not allowed to. It's illegal." First Aid told him. The sensors dinged and he looked down. "And the situation just got worse. We seem to have the triple-changers coming after us."

"Damn those fraggers." Sideswipe muttered. "Can we lose them?"

"And you're calling me insane?" Red Alert canted a browridge at the red twin, before he turned around. "Silverbolt! Why are you slowing down?!"

"Stop!" Silverbolt recommended frantically. "If they fire on us, it won't matter anymore if we stole this ship or not! We'll be scrapped!"

"Keep going!" Red Alert shouted.

Against his will -- he rather liked living -- Silverbolt pushed more speed out of the _Nemesis_. The ion cannons mounted atop the each checkpoint shot off a blast, but he swerved the ship. Most of the ion blasts were avoided, but a few dragged along the hull, leaving black, sparking trails behind and causing some of the instruments inside the main control room to suddenly fritz.

"Damage report!" Red Alert requested.

"Forward external sensors are gone! Hull integrity is down nine percent!" Perceptor announced. "The triple-changers are firing on us from behind!" He spasmed with terror. "And the cannons are getting ready to fire again!"

"Get some coordinates in and us out of here!" First Aid yelled from the back

"Transwarp drive is already warming up!" Hound said, punching at a few buttons. "Just hold 'em all off a bit longer!"

"We may not have a bit longer!" Sideswipe snapped.

"Can't rush it! The warp engines have to warm up first!" Hound snapped back.

Two more ion blasts slammed into the _Nemesis_'s belly, three more on the starboard side and one more on the port side. The ship rocked alarmingly and lost a little speed. Different alarms started to scream various warnings as the triple-changers continued to throw everything they had at the ship. They were looking to cripple it, but not permanently. Megatron was going to want the _Nemesis_ back.

"We've lost the third primary sub-light engine!" Perceptor swore. "Hull integrity is at seventy-seven percent! It really isn't helping that we have three Decepticons trying to stop us as well." He put his head in his hands. "I can't believe we're actually doing this..."

"Turning on the secondary sub-light engines!" Mirage announced. He too swore at one of the read-outs. "Red! The ship is threatening to separate! If we get hit too many times, the back end will come off and we'll lose the warp engines!"

Red Alert shot a look at the green-gray scout. "Hound, are we ready for warp?"

"They're sixty-two percent charged!" he announced. "Another breem!"

What appeared to be a pale bolt of electricity shot toward the _Nemesis_, enveloping it and everyone clutched their heads in brief pain. They all felt something in their CPUs shut down.

"Hacksaw in my processor!" Sideswipe shouted, effectively describing the feeling. He shook his head to clear it. The pain and the feeling dissipated as quickly as it had come.

"What was that?" Silverbolt asked, looking around while trying to steer the ship through the rain of fire.

"Felt like a disrupter blast!" First Aid said, very clinically. He ran a scan on everyone. "Yes, our internal comms are down as well as our receivers! Our scanners have been hampered!"

More ion blasts rocked the ship down to its core.

"Hull integrity is at fifty-eight percent and at the speed which we're traveling, it will go down faster!" Perceptor shouted from his station. "Rear external sensors are lost and the second primary sub-light engine is twenty percent damaged!"

"Warp engines are seventy-six percent charged!"

"They're sending skimmers after us!" Mirage announced, shocked. "Now that **is** illegal!"

Skimmers were police drones, designed with the specific function to chase and sabotage any spacecraft breaking the law. They cut the engines lines and threatened to cut the life-support systems in order to get the criminals to surrender. They could only be called off by whoever held the controller. It was illegal for a simple security checkpoint to have these things. Granted, it was also illegal for a simple security checkpoint to be outfitted with a series of ion cannons, but apparently since they thought that this corner of space was largely uninhabited, they could get away with anything out here.

"Hull integrity is at fifty-one percent!"

"Warp engines are eighty-four percent charged!"

The ion cannons swung around for the shots that would finish the _Nemesis_ off.

With a burst of speed, the triple-changers landed on the hull and dug their claws in tight.

"Eighty-eight percent charged!"

The skimmers closed in, ready to attach themselves to the engines and cut the lines.

"Ship separation is still being threatened!"

"Ninety-six percent charged!"

"Hull integrity is at forty-eight percent!"

The ion cannons fired off another charge, this one aimed directly for the warp engines.

The thick, damaged metal hull rattled ominously. It sounded like it was going to fall apart.

"One hundred percent!"

"Punch it!" Red Alert screamed.

The ion cannons fired.

Perceptor threw the lever.

For a moment, time itself seemed to slow. The stars stretched into long shining lines and twisted together. The _Nemesis_ glowed and the transwarp engines lit up like a brilliant fire. The ion blasts struck the transwarp engines just as they reached their peak and the two very different energies mingled and then reacted quite violently with one another, exploding in a massive conflagration that lit up the cosmos.

No one really saw what happened to the _Nemesis_ behind the explosion, but there was an odd sound -- not unlike tearing paper -- strangely heard in the void.

Standard warp drives were meant for short hops through space; a quick escape from danger and ideal for most shuttles. A transwarp drive worked in much the same fashion of a space bridge by creating a wormhole to travel very long distances; except that if the engines were calibrated improperly, then time travel could be accidentally achieved as well. It was a delicate balance; as once they were created, wormholes were not to be trifled with for they could be quite unstable.

The wormholes, however, usually never remained open for very long. Only this time... This new one didn't seem to be closing.

* * *

It was disturbing enough to watch the _Nemesis_ explode (implode? Barricade couldn't tell.), but it was even more disturbing to listen to Megatron's furious yells when the triple-changers failed to respond to his hales. He ranted and cursed and paced the edge of the platform where the _Nemesis_ had been docked. He had already thrown a passing service drone over the side and was currently raving at the diminutive docking master for such things as lax security. There was only one thought cycling through Barricade's processor as he watched this: _That's not Megatron._

The docking master was a four-armed, four legged humanoid that stood at least ten feet tall and appeared to have two eyes but a close inspection revealed four eyes, two in each socket. Body-build suggested it was male, but it still only reached a little past Megatron's knee. Megatron was using his considerable height to install fear into the humanoid, but the docking master appeared unruffled. Scanner suggested otherwise, however. The humanoid's heart-rate was faster, despite respiration being well-controlled, and chemicals were surging. There was a gleam of sweat on the humanoid's forehead.

"--We cannot give you compensation for the theft of your craft. You left a number of unpaid bills and theft does not waive those bills." the docking master said, showing quite a bit of moxie in standing up to the Decepticon lord. "You can file a complaint and a stolen vehicle report, but until you pay your expenses, we cannot reimburse the docking fee. That's final."

"Then allow me to file a complaint!" Megatron roared, a clawed hand sweeping the docking master right over the edge with very little effort. He fell with a wail and was quickly silenced as he dropped out of the air membrane that protected the station from the vacuum. He turned to the docking master's cohorts, who promptly shook their heads and backed off; not about to tangle with the mech who had just so easily killed their boss.

"Intelligent." he rumbled softly, Pit-fire optics narrowing to burning points. "You will now obey me. All incoming ships will be tagged. All incoming and outgoing communications will be monitored. You **will** inform me if any Autobots enter the vicinity. I will give you their known hailing frequencies and I will **not** tolerate any mistakes. Is that clear?"

The four-armed humanoids quickly nodded their assent.

"Then get to work!"

They all scattered obediently. Megatron turned to look at his subordinates instead. None of them spoke; they stood by respectfully and a little apart from each other so they wouldn't look like too much of a group. The Decepticon lord said nothing and soon walked away to find the main control room. His threatening presence did nothing to calm the already anxious beings that had been alarmed by the explosion (implosion? Barricade still wasn't sure.) and those beings scattered to corners of the station just to be away from him. After a moment of thick silence, the Constructicons wandered away to find something to keep themselves occupied.

Barricade tilted his head slightly and rubbed at a few old scratches etched into his helm. He wasn't sure what to say about this. Unless they could hijack a ship for themselves or there was one coming for them, they were stuck here. He didn't fancy being stuck here. Especially not with Megatron stomping around and losing his mind. Barricade hated to admit it, but he would feel safer around _Starscream_, of all mechs.

Truly, the world must be ending.

The Saleen then noticed that Soundwave had trekked to the end of the dock, peering out into the cosmos beyond. Something like curiosity spurred Barricade to go have a look as well and he joined the Communications Officer at the edge. And there, seeming to drift slowly among the stars was what looked to be a nebula, but experience told Barricade that it was far from a nebula. It had all the colors of one, but it looked oddly surreal; like it wasn't even supposed to be there.

"What." was all he was able to say.

"A wormhole." Soundwave replied. "A tear in the fabric of space."

"Is that good or bad?" Barricade wondered, glancing at the blue mech.

"Its exit: important." Soundwave said. "Its exit will determine its importance."

Barricade glanced around to see if Megatron was anywhere nearby. The Decepticon lord appeared to be off bullying some of the station workers.

"So... let's say it comes out somewhere near Earth's solar system." the Saleen offered and Soundwave nodded in return. That could become a problem; easy access to Earth and all.

However, it was all guesswork at this point. No doubt the coordinates would have been provided by the _Nemesis_'s main computer, but there was still the question of whether or not the ship had even survived long enough to be sucked through the wormhole.

Barricade had his doubts, but Soundwave knew better. If the _Nemesis_ had been destroyed, he would have felt the bonds sever in death. His cassettes had still been aboard when the ship had been hijacked. Part of him didn't care; it had gotten them far away from Megatron, but he was worried, as was natural for any creator. If his cassettes had survived, then there was every chance that the Autobots had survived as well. That pleased him; for in the grand scheme of his plan, he would need the Autobots to bring down Megatron in the end. Soundwave didn't anticipate living to see the end of this. Not once Megatron discovered his mutiny.

And there it was; a soft, gentle touch against his mental shields. It was a request; the questioner sitting patiently beyond his shields, waiting to be allowed in. Soundwave smiled under his mask. Megatron could monitor the communications all he wanted, but he was never going to catch this one. Never in a million years.

He lowered his mental shields just enough to allow for psychic speech, knowing that his "visitor" had enough power to crush his mind even over the distance that separated them and though they were well-acquainted through their mutual telepathy, he wasn't going to take any chances. His "visitor" giggled over this briefly, not even trying to read his thoughts. That one had just come.

'_Operation: Unseen is go.'_

The blue mech smiled a little wider.

'_Outside contacts?'_ he inquired.

'_A fiery dive through the storm to the lightning.'_ was the reply._ 'The wave shall not be rattled by the thunder, lest a shock comes.'_

It took Soundwave a moment to puzzle through that. His fellow telepath had a habit of speaking in riddles when it was suitable. He knew little to nothing of his fellow telepaths, as they were very few and far between. But he understood that without proper training early in life, it was highly possible for a mech to fall to a form of insanity. He had communicated with this one long enough to understand that this telepath had been treading the line between sanity and madness for some time.

Soundwave was asking seven mechs -- seven members of the most notorious Black Ops team in Cybertron's history; each mech a master in their chosen field -- to help him. In particular, he sought the help of only one of them. He wanted the spy to seamlessly infiltrate the _Darksyde_ and its troops and to bring down the Decepticon Empire from within.

It was the only way to bring down Megatron.

And bring down whatever it was that was driving him insane.

* * *

--**Arc Two: Lost in Space** Complete --

* * *


End file.
